


Strawberry Red

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 55,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Warnings: violence, torture, non-con, sexual situationsSummary: Season 4: Spike is captured and chipped by the Initiative, as per canon -- but he doesn't escape nearly so easily. Willow is recruited by Walsh to work for the Initiative instead of Buffy, but soon begins to wonder if she might have made a terrible mistake...





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Thanks for the relocate. I perform better without an audience.”

 

The clueless vampire froze, only now becoming aware that the girl he had been chasing was perhaps a bit more than just a girl. He frowned at the blonde girl’s confident words and tone of cold amusement.

 

And a moment later, the infamous Slayer was laying into the poor sod.

 

“You were thinking, what, a little helpless coed before bed? You know very well, you eat this late...” she quipped as she plunged the stake through the hapless vampire’s chest, “…you're gonna get heartburn. Get it? Heartburn?” she asked doubtfully, just before the vampire’s body crumbled into dust.

 

*Now that’s just bloody cruel. Can’t she just send the stupid git off to hell in peace? No, she’s got to do the swaggering and taunting thing…infuriating bint…*

 

“That's it? That's all I get? One lame-ass vamp with no appreciation for my painstakingly thought-out puns? I don't think the forces of darkness are even trying. I mean, you could make a little effort here, you know? Give me something to work with…” the Slayer groused as she sauntered slowly out of Spike’s line of vision.

 

He glared down at her from the bluff where he watched her, murderous intent in his crystal blue eyes.

 

She had cost him more than he could ever regain.

 

If not for the tiny blonde, strutting off in all her perky glory, his former master status over this town, Drusilla, and the Gem of Amara would all still be his. But no, she had to thwart his plans at every turn, even going so far as to add insult to injury by sending the gem off into the hands of the bleedin’ pouf in L.A!

 

He *had* enjoyed the chance to inflict a little well-deserved torture on his git of a sire, though. That much had been fun. Almost worth it.

 

Almost. But not quite.

 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” Spike smirked maliciously. “You should know better than to tempt the fates that way. 'Cause the Big Bad is back, and this time, it's...”

 

His threatening words cut off with a startled cry of pain, as a searing jolt of electricity coursed through his body, and he collapsed backward onto the ground. He had not even begun to recover from the blast when a clinging, restraining net fell upon him. It wrapped around his body, and his captor began dragging him away across the ground.

 

The moment he recovered enough strength to struggle, a second blast of electric current shook him, taking away his consciousness.

 

**********************************************

 

Spike awakened suddenly, his nerves already alert and shooting warning signals to his brain, even before he remembered what had happened – as though, while it took his mind a few moments to recall it, his body hadn’t forgotten. He struggled blindly against bonds that he could not see, which held his wrists and ankles fastened down to some sort of table beneath him.

 

He could not see, he soon realized, because he was bound face down, his head held firmly in place by a complex set of interwoven straps, tight enough to keep him from moving his head at all.

 

And that fact alone would have been enough to send him into a panic – if he hadn’t already been nearly there.

 

The harsh, antiseptic smell that filled the room nearly overwhelmed the scent of the humans surrounding him, but Spike could still make out that there were seven people in the room, three of them female, and several of them quite nervous. He felt a meager sense of gratification when he sensed the fear of the young woman standing closest to him, and heard her stumble backward in fearful haste when he tried to move.

 

“It’s awake, Commander Walsh! It’s awake!” she hissed in a loud, ridiculous whisper, as if he could not have heard her even without his enhanced hearing.

 

“I’m not a bloody ‘it’, you stupid bint! Where am I? What is this? If you don’t…”

 

Once again, his words were cut off, though this time it was by the use of two additional straps in the contraption fastened on his head, pulled tight across his open mouth, and then one up and the other down, stretching his mouth wide open, and preventing any further speech – as well as taking away his ability to bite.

 

Spike struggled wildly to pull free, letting out a choked cry of indignant protest, as his mouth was quickly stuffed with white medical gauze. The straps were removed, only to be replaced by another that went around from the crown of his head, under his chin, and was pulled tight to keep him from dropping his jaw and spitting the fabric out.

 

He tried to fight, to voice his protest, but either was impossible.

 

“Should we – should we at least administer a local anesthetic?” an uncertain male voice spoke to Spike’s left. “I mean – if it’s awake…”

 

“There’s no need to waste time or anesthetic on this thing,” a harsh, commanding female voice replied. “We’re already prepped for the insertion of the behavioral modification chip – and it doesn’t matter. It’s not human – and I highly doubt, if your situations were reversed, that it would worry about *your* pain, soldier.”

 

Spike had to confess, even in spite of his panic and confusion, she was right.

 

If he had the chance, he’d tear them all to pieces.

 

Through his haze of fear and disorientation, it took Spike a few moments to register the darker implications of her words. When he did, he resumed his resistance with renewed vigor, desperate to break free before they could begin whatever procedure the young soldier – clearly more compassionate than his commander – had thought would require the use of anesthetic.

 

“Just check the restraints. Make sure it’s secured, and then we’ll begin the procedure,” the woman – Walsh – coolly advised the people under her command.

 

Even the slight struggles Spike was able to manage quickly became impossible as the restraints at his wrists and ankles were cruelly tightened. Walsh herself moved in closer to his face, yanking the straps until he could not budge his head at all. As her hands slipped away from their work at the straps, she touched the back of his neck with unsettling familiarity, and Spike jumped reflexively, in a futile attempt to avoid her touch.

 

He heard the sadistic amusement in her voice as she spoke softly, close to his face. “Relax. It’ll only take an hour or so. With any luck, you’ll pass out within minutes.”

 

Spike snarled at her as best he could with the uncomfortable gag in his mouth, unconsciously shifting to his game face. He knew it was a useless display of bravado, but could not help the instinctive response to the threat now facing him.

 

“Don’t – don’t *talk* to him,” said the girl who had spoken before, in a slightly aghast, pleading tone. “It’s just – it – just don’t…”

 

“Does that look like a person to you?” Walsh retorted in a calm, dismissive voice. “That’s a monster, young lady. Not a human being. If we gave it half a chance, it would drain you dry, probably rape and torture you for good measure. And in a few minutes, he won’t ever be able to do those things to anyone again. Our behavioral modification chip will make sure of that.”

 

That definitely did *not* sound good.

 

Spike’s taut muscles strained uselessly against his bonds, and he was painfully aware of his own vulnerable, exposed state, at the mercy of these humans who saw him as nothing more than a particularly vicious animal to be controlled.

 

Satisfied that her employees were convinced of the necessity of their actions, Walsh ordered with quiet authority, “Let’s begin. Go ahead and make the initial incision.”

 

When the scalpel sliced through the flesh on the back of Spike’s head, he could not hold back a stifled scream of agony, muffled almost completely by the thick cloth in his mouth.

 

When the tiny electric bone saw began to cut open his skull, he lost consciousness once more.

 

***********************************

 

Professor Maggie Walsh watched her psychology students file out of the room, her mind already drifting toward her other work – her more important work. The operation the night before on the newly captured vampire, Hostile 17, had been a complete success.

 

The vampire had awakened twice more during the procedure, wreaking havoc upon the still weak sensibilities of the young members of her staff, but the vampire’s bonds had held. The procedure had been successfully completed, despite the shaky, fumbling hands of her inexperienced new technicians.

 

When the vampire had awakened in its holding cell after the surgery, Walsh had felt the need to test the results of the procedure. After all, it was likely that, in their nervousness, one of her staff might have made a mistake. She had been waiting in the cell when Hostile 17 regained consciousness, knowing that the creature’s first impulse would be to attack her.

 

Naturally, it had tried.

 

And, of course, the attempt had been a failure.

 

*Or a success,* she amended to herself with a secretive smile. *Depending on your perspective.*

 

She waited until most of the students had left before beginning to gather her own things together. She took her time, watching with a knowing gaze as the little redhead near the back of the classroom headed toward her. She had seen the light of interest in the girl’s eyes as she discussed major psychological disorders resulting from traumas, and had known that today would be one of the frequent days when the girl would come to talk to her after class.

 

“Professor Walsh,” she began, with an expression that was both eager and self-conscious. “I had a couple of questions about the lecture. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk?”

 

“For you, Miss Rosenberg?” Walsh smiled at her. “My prize student? Of course.” She hesitated a moment, before deciding that now was the opportunity she had been waiting for. “In fact, Willow – may I call you Willow?”

 

The girl’s face lit up, and she nodded. “Of course,” she replied, sounding flattered.

 

“Willow,” Walsh nodded her approval. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. I actually have a few questions for *you*. Do you – have a few minutes to speak with me in my office?”

 

************************************

 

Once the door to her office was firmly closed, Professor Walsh moved slowly, casually, back across the room to sit down in the chair behind her desk. Willow, already seated in the chair facing hers, felt unaccountably nervous, wondering not for the first time what Walsh wanted to talk to her about – and why it was private enough that she had to close the door first.

 

“Well,” Professor Walsh began, with a friendly, disarming smile. “It seems that we have some common interests, don’t we?”

 

Willow returned her smile tentatively, nodding in agreement. “I’ve always been fascinated by psychology, Professor Walsh. And your class is…”

 

“Not psychology, Willow. Your -- *other* interests.”

 

Willow’s eyes widened suddenly, and she wondered how much Walsh could possibly know – if anything – about the first of her extracurricular interests that came to mind. Walsh’s secretive expression told Willow that it was probably more than she was comfortable with her professor knowing.

 

Still, all things considered, she thought it safer to continue to play dumb.

 

“What other interests?” she asked innocently. “I – I’m kind of a bookworm. Or – or a computer worm, maybe…though a computer worm is…not exactly a good thing, is it? Ooooh! Is that what you mean? My work with computers? Because I didn’t know you were into computers…”

 

“I’m not,” Walsh cut her off mildly. “No, Willow, I’m talking about interests of a less modern nature. *Much* less modern.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about whatsoever…and…I’m not the least bit convincing, am I?” Willow sighed.

 

Professor Walsh just shook her head with a patient smile.

 

“Darn.”

 

“Willow, the very fact that we’re discussing this at all means that you have no reason to worry about your secret,” Walsh assured her.

 

“Oh, good,” Willow breathed out a deep sigh of relief. Then, she frowned uncertainly. “And – explain to me why that is...please?”

 

Walsh laughed quietly, before obliging. “I’m not likely to go public with your secret – interests – since I happen to share them. And I’m not likely to cause you any harm, since I believe you’ll find we’re on the same side in this conflict.”

 

Willows’ words were slow and cautious when she asked, “And what conflict would that be?”

 

“The ultimate conflict, Willow,” Walsh replied. “Between good and evil. Humanity – and the hostile entities that surround us, of which most of the world is not even aware.”

 

“Oh. That conflict.” Willow’s tone was flat, resigned, as she stared down at Walsh’s desk, before raising uncertain eyes to meet hers. “So, what exactly – did you want to talk to me about?”

 

Walsh’s smile softened with respect, and what almost could have passed for affection, if Willow had thought the woman was capable of it. “I admire your caution, Willow. I respect that. And it only makes me more certain of my decision.”

 

“What decision would that be?”

 

Walsh was quiet for a moment. Then, she replied, “I have an important proposition for you. Something very vital to this battle between good and evil – that you could be a part of.” She paused, before adding, “There’s something I want to show you. Will you come with me?”


	2. Chapter 2

Silence filled Professor Walsh’s office for a long moment, as the instructor simply waited patiently for Willow’s decision – and Willow tried frantically to figure out what that decision should be.

 

How much did the professor actually know?

 

“What – what is it that you want to show me?” she asked finally, trying hard to sound calm and unafraid. “Where do we need to go?”

 

Walsh gave her a tolerant smile. “Willow, you will be quite safe with me, I promise you,” she assured her without actually answering either question. “No harm will come to you. If you do not wish to go with me, that is your choice, and I will not hold it against you in any way – academic, or otherwise.” She paused, hesitating just a moment before admitting quietly, her eyes locked onto Willow’s, “But I really wish that you *would* go with me. I think this is something you would want to see.”

 

Willow searched Walsh’s eyes, troubled and uncertain, but saw no cause for genuine alarm in the professor’s expression. She seemed to be very open about the situation, giving her a choice and all. If Walsh had really wanted to harm her, wouldn’t it have been much easier not to give her any warning?

 

Besides, she was quite curious what the professor had to show her, what she thought Willow would be so very interested in.

 

Maybe it was something that Buffy would need to know about.

 

Curiosity and dedication to the Scooby cause overwhelmed her fear, and Willow found herself nodding her assent as she rose to her feet.

 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

 

***********************************

 

“Um -- why are we in a frat house?” Willow asked, glancing around uncertainly for anyone who might call her on the fact that she obviously did not belong in the spacious, sprawling mansion that housed one of UC Sunnydale’s many fraternities. “This isn’t some evil ruse where you’ve tricked me into coming here, because you’re my teacher, and *because* you’re my teacher I stupidly trust you, only to find out that I shouldn’t, because you’re only going to turn me over to some frat boys as a human sacrifice to their demon lord, is it? Because I’ve heard stories. Detailed, scary stories. And if it is, you won’t get away with it. Except…for…the part where you will, because this is Sunnydale, and no one notices the incredibly disturbing number of young, female, virgin co-eds who go missing every semester. But, hey! *Not* a virgin, so…”

 

Willow’s eyes widened as she realized how alarmingly personal her rambling question had become, and she added awkwardly, “Just…in case you were, you know… wondering. For the sacrifice.”

 

Walsh just smiled, amusement in her eyes. “No. No human sacrifice on the agenda for tonight.”

 

Willow nodded resolutely. “Good to know.” She was quiet a moment before asking, “So -- what exactly *is* on the…”

 

Her voice trailed off as Walsh turned back toward the mirror they were facing and flipped a switch on the wall. Immediately, the mirror split into two panels, sliding to either side, revealing a large metal door with a small keypad mounted on it.

 

“Neat.” Willow couldn’t help admiring the coolly scientific James Bond-ness of it -- even if the nifty metal door *was* going to lead her to certain doom.

 

Actually, what it led to was an elevator. Willow nervously followed Walsh’s instructions as the electronic equipment in the elevator recorded Willow’s voice and fingerprint and scanned her retina, wondering anxiously what exactly the information would be used for.

 

“Just in case you decide you’d like to come back later,” Walsh answered her unspoken question, and Willow looked at her in surprise, both at her perception, and at the implications of her words. The professor added pointedly, “And I’m quite certain that once you see what we have to offer you, Willow -- you will.”

 

Willow had her doubts, but they were swiftly put out of her mind as the elevator slid to a smooth stop, and its double metallic doors opened, revealing a scene that was, frankly, the last thing that Willow had expected to see.

 

Walsh led her out of the elevator and onto a raised walkway, toward a banister that overlooked an enormous round room. Willow felt slightly intimidated as she watched uniformed soldiers and studious people in white lab coats moving purposefully in both directions along the walkway; but she also felt quite relieved. The uniforms lent an official air to the whole thing that made it seem a lot less scary.

 

She froze when she reached the banister, however, the scary feeling momentarily coming back at the sight of the numerous strange creatures on the level beneath where she stood, intermingled with more of the people in the white lab coats. She gasped as she took a hasty step backward toward the elevator, wanting to get out before the bloodshed started.

 

Because in her experience, demons and humans in the same room inevitably led to bloodshed.

 

And she did not want the blood shed to be hers.

 

“Willow, wait.” Walsh called her back to the railing, beckoning to her with one hand, the expression on her face calm and reassuring. “Take a closer look. It’s perfectly safe.”

 

Willow frowned, her mind unable to come up with a scenario in which it could possibly be safe to be near so many demons, but she hesitantly obeyed the professor, walking slowly back toward the banister, tentatively resting her trembling hands on the cool metal.

 

Her eyes widened as she studied the scene below, and realized that most of the demons she had seen were restrained, strapped down to surgical tables, or in cages. There were a few that were moving about, apparently going through various exercises under the direction of the white-coated scientists, but even those were restrained with iron shackles, limited in their movement by leads attached to their wrists or their throats.

 

It was immediately clear just which species was in charge here.

 

Without the presence of a Slayer, Willow wondered how long that could possibly last.

 

“Well?” Walsh spoke a single word, an eyebrow raised as she cautiously studied the redhead’s expression, waiting for her to voice her reaction.

 

“What -- what is this place?” Willow’s voice was breathless and tinged with confusion, as her wide eyes took in the room once more before returning to Walsh’s face in a bewildered question.

 

Walsh was staring down at Willow’s hands, and the girl looked down, noticing with mild surprise that her knuckles were white, clenched around the metal railing. Slowly, she flexed her fingers, loosening her grip and crossing her arms over her chest in a subconscious defensive gesture. Her expression was calm, and she thought that her voice was remarkably free of fear-free.

 

But Walsh was a psychology instructor.

 

Among other things, apparently.

 

“What you are seeing is something that few ever see, Willow. This is a highly classified military facility which specializes in the study, containment, and control of the sorts of creatures you see down there…” As she spoke, she waved a hand casually toward the lower level, before adding pointedly, “…the sorts of creatures I believe you’ve seen many times before.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Willow admitted, seeing no reason to attempt to hide her knowledge of the existence of demons, not when there were so many in plain sight at the moment. “I’ve seen them before, lots of times.” She frowned, her features twisting into a grimace of disgust as her eyes fell on a thing that seemed to be a loosely connected tangle of tentacles held together by a gray-green sludge that oozed around it.

 

“Except that thing,” she indicated flatly. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one of those. And I think it’s safe to say I could have gone my whole life without seeing…whatever that is, and I would have been perfectly content. Ecstatic, even.”

 

“That particular species has yet to be identified.” Walsh smiled her controlled amusement at Willow’s reaction, following her gaze for a moment before meeting the younger girl’s eyes again. “The general term we use for all of these types of creatures as a whole is ‘hostile sub-terrestrial’…or just ‘hostile’, as some of the soldiers are accustomed to calling them.”

 

Willow nodded slowly, barely considering that information, her mind still stuck on the fact that the military knew about the existence of demons at all.

 

“Um…how long…how long have you guys known about all this?” she asked, looking back down over the banister, unable to take her gaze from the rather intimidating array of advanced medical and scientific equipment, not to mention the many strange creatures that filled the room. “How long has the military been…*studying* demons?”

 

“This particular facility has been active for nearly a year now,” Walsh replied, and Willow was aware that she had not really answered her question, not precisely anyway.

The answer she received was enough to temporarily distract her, however.

 

“A year?” she echoed in disbelief, staring over the banister. “A whole year,” she repeated, her voice softer and thoughtful. “And we never knew.”

 

“You know more than most.”

 

Walsh’s quiet words drew Willow’s attention, and she felt an apprehensive uncertainty in the pit of her stomach as she turned to fully face the woman she had known as her professor. “And what does that mean to you?” she asked, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice…and mostly succeeding.

 

Walsh returned her gaze, a muted admiration in her eyes at the little redhead’s courage, as she replied without hesitation, “This is about what that might mean to *you*, Willow. It’s about whether or not you want to be a part of something bigger…to make a difference.”

 

Willow studied Walsh’s face, hoping that her rising interest did not show in her own expression. “Bigger…but *what*, exactly?” she pressed, frowning. “What exactly is it that you do here?”

 

“We are dedicated to studying these sub-terrestrial species, and devising the best ways of neutralizing their threat to the human populace. Eliminating them when necessary… simply containing or controlling them when possible.” Walsh paused, before adding earnestly, “It’s good work that we’re doing, Willow. We’re protecting people who have no idea of the kind of threats they face every night, with these creatures loose.”

 

It did sound like a good cause.

 

It sounded like the cause Willow was *already* a part of.

 

“So -- if you knew enough to even ask me about this -- if you knew that I know about demons and vampires and all -- then you should also know that -- I’m already doing my part to help…”

 

“But you could do so much more, Willow,” Walsh interrupted her, and Willow found herself drawn in by the professor’s impassioned voice. “With your talents…your knowledge of the underworld that most people have no idea even exists, and your skills in the areas of science and research…you could be doing so much more than simply assisting a few students with a little bit of knowledge, but no real training and few resources. You could have all of this at your disposal.”

 

Her waved hand indicated the vast laboratory again, and Willow couldn’t help but look.

She hesitated, unsure how to respond. Her work with Buffy and the Scoobies was more than Walsh seemed to have guessed just by observing. Buffy was the Slayer, and she made a greater difference than this woman knew.

 

But something told Willow that disclosing Buffy’s identity as the Slayer to this woman was probably not the wisest idea…not just yet, anyway.

 

Not until she knew more about what she was getting into.

 

**Maybe* getting into,* she reminded herself, alarmed at the direction her thoughts were taking. *You haven’t made a decision yet. Maybe.*

 

“So…you’re, what? Recruiting me? You want me to…do what, exactly?”

 

“Work as a part of the expert scientific team you see before you. Put your considerable talents to the best possible use.” Walsh paused before adding in a quiet, certain voice, “You’re doing the best you can with what you have at your disposal, Willow. What I’m offering you is a chance to find out what you can do with the resources that are at *our* disposal.”

 

As Walsh led Willow down the metal staircase into the heart of the laboratory, Willow reminded herself that she had still not made up her mind. She wanted to know more details, more about exactly what the offered position would involve, before she made a decision.

 

She was just looking. No harm in looking.

 

But when Walsh took her into one room after another, drawing her attention to various impressive scientific equipment and devices, Willow found her interest and excitement beginning to outweigh her concerns.

 

This was the military. Of course they had to be secretive, but that didn’t make them *bad*, did it? Buffy and her friends were secretive, too, but they were still doing a good thing, making the world a safer place for people by eliminating part of the demon threat that surrounded them.

 

Wasn’t that just what this group -- the “Initiative” as Walsh had called it -- was doing?

 

Much to Willow’s relief, Walsh did not take her into the center of the lab, where the actual experiments were being performed on the still demon forms strapped to surgical tables. Willow understood that demons were not people; they were dangerous monsters, and they needed to be controlled. If experiments were required in order to accomplish that, well…she thought she could come to understand that.

 

That did not mean that she wanted to see it up close…not yet, anyway.

 

Was that part of what Walsh would be expecting her to do?

 

“We’ll start slow,” the professor-slash-military leader explained to her as she led her back toward the stairs, and Willow wondered if her apprehension about viewing the actual experiments had been that obvious to her. “Of course you’ll be trained in all of our procedures and guidelines before you actually become an active member of my staff.”

 

Walsh smiled as she stopped outside the elevator doors and turned to face Willow. “I want you to be sure about this, Willow. I’ll make sure you understand exactly what we do here, before asking you to make a final decision. All I’m asking you right now is if you’re willing to begin training under me, to potentially take a position with our group.”

 

Willow looked over the railing again, frowning thoughtfully.

 

She did the best she could to help Buffy with Slayer stuff, and she had gotten to the point where she could stake the occasional vamp when it was necessary, but she had to admit -- the fight wasn’t really her thing.

 

To all appearances, this was a place where *her* skills -- science, research, computers -- could be put to use. She could help in the same cause she was already a part of…in *her* way.

 

She wouldn’t be a “sidekick” anymore.

 

She would be a scientist.

 

A mental image of herself a few months from that moment, once she had already learned what she needed to actively join the Initiative, filled her mind…and it was a glorious one. For a brief moment, she saw herself as the leader of a team of scientists, presiding over a vital experiment that might prove the crucial factor in controlling a particularly dangerous breed of demon.

 

Saving human lives.

 

Confident.

 

Respected.

 

And utterly in her element.

 

*It’s just training…you’re not committing to anything…go ahead, what can it hurt?*


	3. Chapter 3

Spike’s head hurt.

Bad.

That was the first thought that crossed his mind as he drifted back toward wakefulness following…

What had happened to him again?

He tried to remember, but for a few moments, the memory eluded him. Later, he thought that his mind was likely trying to protect itself from the horrors he had experienced -- the images, the memories imprinted on his psyche of being helplessly strapped down to a surgical table and having his head sliced into while he was conscious and unable to defend himself in any way.

But, after a few moments, it all came flooding back, and Spike felt a cold shiver of apprehension flow down his spine with the sudden, instinctive realization that he was not alone.

Someone was watching him.

He opened his eyes, despite the blinding pain caused by even that slight movement of his head, and realized that he was lying on his stomach on a rather uncomfortable folding cot. He slowly raised himself up on his arms, his eyes widening as he saw several uniformed young men -- soldiers -- standing a few yards from his head, just looking on impassively, apparently with little interest, judging by their calm, unflinching demeanor.

He cautiously sat up, realizing with discomfort that he was completely naked. As he turned slowly, allowing his legs to fall over the side of the cot and hit the floor, he realized with dismay that the few soldiers he had seen a moment before were only the beginning of what faced him in this huge, empty concrete room.

In a silent, unmoving -- and therefore also bloody unnerving -- circle, nearly twenty soldiers stood around the cot, where they had apparently been simply waiting for him to wake up. For a few seconds, no one moved or spoke, including the wary blond vampire. He stared at the men surrounding him, silently gauging his odds in the fight that was surely to come.

He could take out at least half a dozen of them in a matter of seconds…if not for the rather impressive display of weaponry with which they were arrayed. Bullets couldn’t kill vampires…but they could be bloody painful, and would certainly place him at a disadvantage.

He felt a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, as he remembered the first moments of the brain surgery that had been performed on him, and wondered what exactly these soldiers had to do with it.

“So,” he spoke at last, his voice low and cautious. “What’s this, then?”

For a long moment, the soldiers simply stared at him, and Spike became pleasantly aware of the fact that not all of them were quite as stoically calm as they initially appeared to be. He could detect the scent of fear on more than one of them, and several pairs of eyes were wide and touched with the slightest hint of fear, looking at him as if he was some rare and terrifying creature with which they had never come in contact before.

Which, come to think of it…he probably was.

A slow smirk began to form on his face, as he slowly shifted into his vampiric face and rose to his feet. The pain in his head was still there -- stronger, in fact, with the change -- but it did not matter anymore.

In a few seconds, these young men foolish enough to attempt to imprison him would be dead.

He watched with amusement as one of the soldiers raised a small radio in his trembling hand.

“Commander Walsh, the subject is conscious and alert…appears to be preparing to attack…over…” The young soldier’s voice broke slightly halfway through his sentence.

Spike jumped slightly in surprise when he heard a female voice echo loudly through a speaker mounted in one corner of the ceiling, resounding powerfully against the bare concrete walls. The voice was unsettlingly familiar, and Spike fought to suppress an instinctive shudder at the mental images of the savage surgery he had endured, now flooding his mind at the sound of her voice.

“Well, then, perhaps *you* should be preparing to attack as well…shouldn’t you, soldier?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Over.”

“Your orders, and those of your comrades, are to test the effect of the behavioral modification implant, by any means at your disposal,” the woman continued coolly.

Spike frowned, momentarily puzzled by the words, as his mind slowly put together the pieces. The strange command…the soldiers surrounding him now, ready to “test” him…the strange, merciless procedure that had been performed on him earlier…

His voice was low, hushed with horror as he asked, “What the bloody hell did you wankers do to me?”

“Commander…it’s…it’s talking…what…?”

“That should mean nothing to you, Agent Simms. Obey your orders.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Over.”

“Agent Simms.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Over.”

“I’m standing right here. I can see you raise and lower your radio. You don’t have to say ‘over’.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am. Ov…Yes, Ma’am.”

Spike glanced around in surprise once more, wondering where the woman was standing that would allow her to see what was going on in the room. He noticed that one of the room’s four walls was not concrete, but rather appeared to be a single, large mirror. Spike realized that it must be a one-way mirror, masking a room on the other side, most likely the place from which the female commander of these men was watching the proceedings.

*From a safe distance, of course…*

He smirked toward the mirror, his eyes narrowed in a predatory way. He was still apprehensive about the woman’s cryptic words, but he was not about to let her see that. He hoped that his gaze had somehow found hers, although he could not see her through the mirrored glass.

“Now.”

The single word was spoken so calmly, in an almost bored tone, that Spike did not understand what it signified -- not until it was too late.

At the cool command, all of the soldiers seemed to go into action at once, drawing clubs rather than guns from their sides and advancing on him as one. Spike’s smirk did not fade, and he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated expression of tolerance, gesturing them toward him in a taunting, two-handed motion.

He didn’t care what they had done to him. He still knew how to fight.

Spike’s first blow was a powerful, crippling one for the unfortunate soldier who happened to reach the snarling vampire first.

It was also Spike’s last blow.

As the tall soldier raised the baton in his hand, prepared to bring it down across the vampire’s shoulders, Spike caught the end of the baton, twisting it in a lightning fast maneuver that ended with the soldier pinned with his back to Spike’s chest, the baton trapping his awkwardly twisted arm between it and his ribcage. With a quick, sharp jerk, Spike simultaneously shattered both the soldier’s arm and several of his ribs, releasing the man to slump to the floor with an anguished moan.

The soldier’s sound of pain was swiftly followed by the vampire’s own.

A searing jolt of fiery agony tore through Spike’s head, drawing a startled cry from his throat and dropping him to his knees. Before he had time to recover, the soldiers were falling upon him again, striking blow after blow with their clubs, keeping him down when he tried to stand, once the pain began to subside.

“Stop. I need to make an adjustment.”

The command from the woman behind the mirror instantly drew the violence to a halt, and the soldiers stood in a loose circle, crowded around the fallen vampire as he staggered to his feet.

“What the bloody hell did you do to me?” he snarled, not in the direction of the soldiers but toward the mirror.

The woman did not address him, but rather gave another command to her men.

“All right. Let’s start again. One at a time. Go ahead.”

There was a brief hesitation on the part of the soldiers, who had clearly seen what had happened to their fellow when he had approached the monster on his own. But it only lasted a moment before their training took control, and the first of the soldiers advanced on the vampire.

Spike’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of the jolt of pain that had hit him, wondering how they had caused it…and how he could prevent its happening again.

*A test…it’s some kind of bloody test…but what are they testing?*

He hardly had time to consider it before the first soldier was upon him, his weapon raised to strike. Spike lunged for the young man, gripping the club as he had done to the first soldier – and the pain hit him again.

Violent, crippling agony, burning through his head with a blinding, mind-numbing intensity. Spike struggled to retain his footing but collapsed to the floor on one knee, despite his best efforts.

“Much better,” Walsh remarked, and Spike could hear the cold pleasure in her voice. “It’s now set to react to intent, as well as action.”

*What’s set?* Spike wondered desperately, his eyes closed, his breath shallow and uneven as he struggled to get his bearings again. *What is she talking about?*

Scraps of the woman’s words from minutes earlier filtered through the haze of pain that filled his mind.

*…orders are to test…*

*…set to react to intent…*

*…behavioral modification chip…*

Spike’s eyes shot open with sudden, horrified understanding, as he began to put the pieces together. He looked up toward the mirror, a stunned expression of disbelief in his eyes.

It wasn’t possible.

Surely, they hadn’t…

As his third attacker rushed him, a cruel smile of satisfaction on his lips now that he knew the vampire could not harm him, Spike knew despite it all that he had to try. Perhaps he had misunderstood. Perhaps it was not what he thought.

Perhaps it was – but at any rate, he had to fight back.

As he struggled to his feet and lunged at the young man, a fresh blast of electric pain coursed through his skull…and drove him back into the blackness of unconsciousness.

********************************

 

“Willow? Willow!”

The redhead shook her head slightly, drawing herself out of her mental pictures of stark, clean white and modern electronics, and back to the reality of the moment.

She was sitting on the lawn of the common area at UC Sunnydale, and her best friend was staring at her, one eyebrow skeptically raised as she studied Willow’s lost, distant expression.

“Why do I suddenly feel completely ignored?” Buffy asked flatly, though the sparkle in her eyes revealed that she was not really upset.

“Sorry,” Willow sheepishly replied. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, I was just talking about Riley. But I can do that anytime. All the time, in fact. And I probably will. So, let’s talk about you instead…what are you thinking about?” Buffy gave her a curious smile.

Willow looked away, pensive.

Should she tell Buffy about the offer her instructor had made her? It *was* Slayer-related. Or rather, *demon*-related…but wasn’t that pretty much the same thing? She knew that Buffy would want to know about it.

The question was – did she want Buffy to know about it?

“Oh, nothing in particular. Just zoning,” she replied with a careless shrug, but her internal debate was far from over.

“Oh.” Buffy was quiet for a few moments before bouncing giddily in her place. “In that case, back to Riley!”

Willow laughed, shaking her head at her friend’s recent one-track mind.

“I’m sorry, Will, but he’s so adorable! And I think he really likes me…he’s so attentive and sweet and acts like he just wants to know everything there is to know about me…” The Slayer’s voice trailed off, and her expression darkened. “Which…might not be such a good thing…”

“What do you mean?” Willow asked, still only half-focused on what Buffy was saying.

“Well…the Slayer stuff,” Buffy said in a hushed voice, outside the range of the many students walking by the spot where they sat. “I mean…that’s the problem. I really like him. Which means, I don’t want to have to lie to him. But…I don’t think I can tell him about the Slayer things, you know?”

“Why not?”

Buffy blinked in surprise. “Why not? Because he’s…normal, Will. He’s just a guy. He doesn’t know anything about the things that go bump in the night…and he probably couldn’t handle it.”

Something about Buffy’s words irritated Willow, and she frowned. “Just ‘cause someone’s not a Slayer doesn’t mean they can’t handle it. Xander can handle it. I can handle it.”

“Yeah,” Buffy conceded, “but Riley’s a potential boyfriend. Which means he’ll wanna be all protective and stuff…and end up getting himself hurt. Xander’s done the same thing, remember? Not that he’s *ever* been a potential boyfriend, but…he’s gotten himself hurt trying to prove his manliness, and Riley would do the same thing.”

She was quiet a moment, before pointing out, “You have no manliness to prove.”

Willow smiled at that, but her smile faded at Buffy’s next words, though they were spoken with affectionate humor, rather than cruelty.

“Luckily you’re too much of a scaredy cat to get yourself in any serious trouble.”

“Hey!” Willow protested.

“No, sometimes scaredy cat is a good thing!” Buffy hurried to assure her, nodding emphatically as she met her eyes. “I mean…sometimes it’s wise to just…know your limits, you know? To stay away from things that you just aren’t equipped to deal with.”

Willow gave a little half-shrug, which Buffy gladly perceived as agreement, before looking away and tuning out the rest of Buffy’s happy chatter about her potential new boyfriend, as her mind fell into a resentful cycle of defensive thoughts.

*I’m not equipped to deal with Slayer stuff? I deal with it every day! Or at least – every day Buffy asks me to, anyway…I *could* deal with it every day, if I had to. I…know stuff…useful stuff.* Her jaw set with determination, as she silently came to her decision.

*Professor Walsh knows I can do stuff…that’s why she asked me to help. Buffy doesn’t appreciate the things I do to help…but Professor Walsh will…*

She rose from the grass suddenly, gathering her textbooks in her arms.

“Where are you going, Will?” Buffy asked, a puzzled frown of concern on her face.

“I, um…forgot to ask Professor Walsh about the assignment for tomorrow,” she hurriedly explained. “I’ve gotta go catch her before she leaves for the day.”

And before Buffy could speak another word of protest, Willow was gone, headed across campus to Professor Walsh’s office…and her own destiny.

TBC....


	4. Chapter 4

The second wave of the soldiers’ attack was worse than the first.

And this time, Spike found that not only was he incapable of striking out at them without experiencing excruciating pain -- he was incapable of striking out at them at all.

He could not move.

Blow after vicious blow rained down upon him while he lay helpless on the cold, stone floor, unable to rise, unable to escape. A thick, gray fog seemed to surround him, covering him and weighing him down, pressing down upon him until he could not move at all.

Panic seized him and he struggled to break through the heavy haze, clawing and fighting his way up but never gaining any distance for his efforts…never getting anywhere at all, as the fog around him only grew thicker, heavier, pinning him in place…

Helplessly trapped…

 

********************************

Spike sat up with a jolt, a quiet cry of fear and frustration tearing from his throat as he awakened.

In the next moment, a fiery pain ripped through his ribcage, and he let out a low groan, raising one shaky hand to press lightly over the sensitive area.

He blinked sleepily as his eyes adjusted to the painfully bright white light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. His mind raced in disjointed circles, on the verge of panicked rambling, as he tried to remember what had happened, how he had gotten here, through the hazy cloud from his dreams that seemed to have followed him out of them, muddling his thoughts.

*Drugs,* he realized with a sudden flash of clarity. *Those tossers bloody drugged me!*

That thought brought back the mental image of the lab, and the barbaric surgical procedure he had endured without the mercy of anesthetic…and after that, when he had been subjected to the brutal beating at the hands of the soldiers, when they had tested the results of their work.

His mind tried to refuse to explore that thought but couldn’t seem to avoid it. His stomach twisted inside him with the memory of what he had heard just before the electrical impulses from the implanted device had driven him to unconsciousness.

*A bloody chip…some kind of thing to keep me from fighting…any time I try to fight back…to defend myself against them…*

The memory of the searing, agonizing pain the chip had caused him sent a shudder through Spike’s body.

*Gotta get it out…have to be able to fight back, can’t let them…no, ’s not bloody possible…no, no, *no*!*

*Okay, calm down, mate…gotta soddin’ get control here or you’ll *never* get out of this!*

With a tremendous effort, Spike managed to push the panic back and focus on his immediate surroundings. It was quite difficult, with his head still fuzzy and confused from whatever drugs they had pumped into his system to keep him out for…well, however long he had been out.

He really had no way of knowing.

He blinked, trying to make his vision focus more clearly, though everything seemed to be swaying slightly around him, and in double vision at that.

*Soddin’ drugs…couldn’t spare a drop while they were slicing into my scalp, but now that I’m bloody helpless…*

*No, can’t be helpless, gotta find a way to get it out, have to…*

*Focus, mate.*

*Right…where the bloody hell am I, anyway?*

He looked around for a few moments and managed to ascertain that he was sitting on a cold, white tile floor, without even an uncomfortable cot this time on which to rest. Apparently, when they had finished with their “tests”, the soldiers had just carelessly tossed him in here, with no concern whatsoever for his comfort.

Big surprise there.

Spike looked down and noticed with mildly embarrassed irritation that he was still completely naked. Ordinarily, he would not have cared all that much; he had never been one to worry much about personal modesty.

Of course, ordinarily he was not at the mercy of a bunch of bloody sadistic pricks who saw him as nothing more than a soddin’ science project.

He winced at the sight of the dark bruises and bloody gashes that marked his bare flesh in various places, and the grim realization that when he got around to moving, it would most likely be a painful and unpleasant affair.

He finally looked up to examine the room he was in, grateful for the small mercy of finding himself alone, at least for now. He was surprised -- and cautiously hopeful -- to find that while he was surrounded on three sides by white walls that were a perfect match for the tile floor, one side of the room appeared to be wide open, without a wall to separate him from whatever lay in the hall outside the room.

Freedom, perhaps?

*Can’t be that easy,* he warned himself. *Gotta be a catch.*

Still…he had to check it out.

Gingerly he braced one arm on the floor, struggling to rise on sore, aching legs. He winced at the painful grinding sensation in his torso as he rose, and decided that he likely had a cracked rib or two from the beating he had taken. He wondered with an absent sort of worry how long it would take his bones to mend, without any blood to promote their healing.

How long had it been since he’d fed?

Judging by the uncomfortable rumbling in his stomach…too long.

Despite the pain, Spike managed to get to his feet, and to stay on them, despite the dizziness he still felt from the powerful dose of medication they had given him. He stepped toward the wall-less side of the room, glancing cautiously out into the hall and, to his relief, finding it empty.

Well…sort of.

Spike’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of more rooms, apparently just like this one, lining the hall -- each with a demon or vampire inside. Most of them were just sitting listlessly on the floor, though a few were pacing in obvious agitation.

None tried to leave.

A sick sensation began to settle in the pit of Spike’s stomach, as some part of his drug-addled mind recognized the logical conclusion to which those details led. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and stepped forward…only to be thrown violently back by a powerful jolt of electricity.

Spike groaned as he dragged himself back to his feet, in greater pain from both the jarring of his existing injuries and the shock he had just taken, and bewildered as to what had happened to cause it.

*The thing in my head? Is it set up to hit me with a nasty shock if I try to get away?*

He cautiously approached the empty space again, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Slowly, carefully, Spike reached out a single hand toward the space -- and jerked it back again with a hiss of pain when a much milder, but still painful, shock shot from his fingertips all the way up his arm, accompanied by a few bright sparks at the point where his skin had contacted the electric wall that kept him in this cell.

*Knew it was too bleedin’ easy.*

Disappointed and discouraged, Spike moved away from the invisible wall, pacing the floor slowly as he tried to think, tried desperately to come up with some way out of the dilemma he was facing. However, after only a few steps, he found that his ability to focus was becoming weaker, and the room began to spin around him.

*The drugs,* he realized with dismay. *The more I move, the more *they* move, through my bloodstream. Buggers probably know that…gotta stop moving so I can think…gotta sit…*

His thoughts suddenly trailed off, and he stopped in his tracks, as a familiar scent reached his nostrils…the scent of a person, someone he knew. Innocence and power entwined…intelligence and beauty…sweetness and youth…with an underlying hint of something else…perhaps a perfume or body wash…perhaps something much more specific to the person herself…

The faintest scent of strawberries…

 

**********************************

“This is your passcard,” Walsh explained to Willow as she led her down the stairs into the large, main room of the Initiative labs. “It contains an electronic code that will allow you access to every part of our facilities that you are authorized to enter. Just slide it…like so…”

She demonstrated and led Willow into a smaller room off the main laboratory.

“Wow,” Willow whispered, her eyes going wide as she stared at the impressive array of medical equipment in the room around her. “I can just…come in here? Into places like this? Just like that?”

Walsh smiled at the girl’s awed expression.

“You’ll find that there are very few areas of this compound that are off limits to you, Willow. We’re a family here. I trust you; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

Willow felt a warm sensation of satisfaction and belonging at the words.

Professor Walsh trusted her.

She had felt a similar sense of belonging, and family, with Buffy and Xander and the others, for a long time; but lately, things were…changing. They all seemed to be going in their own separate directions these days, and sometimes Willow wasn’t sure where they were all going to turn up in the end -- or if they’d even be anywhere near together.

At any rate, she could not imagine Buffy ever trusting her abilities, her intelligence, enough to allow her virtually unlimited access to the most powerful of her weapons. To Buffy, she was only a…a helper. A sidekick.

It felt good to be appreciated for what she had to contribute.

As the tour progressed, Willow found herself more and more excited and awed by the vast technological and scientific resources that were now at her disposal. Finally, Walsh led Willow down a small, dark hallway and through yet another of many locked doors that opened with Willow’s keycard.

“This is the area where our holding cells are located…where we keep the live specimens we’ve captured,” Walsh explained.

Willow felt a little shiver go down her spine in spite of herself, as she looked around at the various breeds of demons in the cells that lined the hall. Most of them were not moving much, but she still could not help an instinctive fear at the feeling of being surrounded by them…not to mention that there was apparently nothing between her and them, should they decide to attack her.

“Um…no offense, but…if these are holding cells…shouldn’t there be, like…*doors* on the cells?” Willow asked uncertainly, swallowing hard as she accidentally met the golden eyes of a vampire, who gave her a menacing snarl.

“There are,” Walsh assured her, satisfaction in her voice. “You just can’t see them. They’re electric. They keep the hostiles away from the outer edges of their cells by means of a powerful electric shock, should they venture too close.”

At those words, Willow felt a strange quivery sensation in her stomach, a slight frown creasing her brow. She knew that these creatures were evil…dangerous…and needed to be contained and controlled, if not destroyed outright.

But that was the problem.

Was it not kinder to simply destroy them outright?

And did kindness really matter all that much, when dealing with the sorts of creatures who could torture you and tear you to pieces just for fun?

“Everything all right?”

Willow shook her head, shaking herself out of her thoughts, to see that Walsh was already nearly to the other end of the hall. She had the keycard in her hand, prepared to open the next door and take Willow further along on her tour.

“Um…yeah,” Willow replied. “Everything’s fine, I just…we’re moving on already?”

“Well, feel free to take a bit more time if you like.” Walsh shrugged as she walked back to her, handing her the keycard. “This is the last stop, anyway. The door at the end of the hall simply leads you back onto the main floor.”

Willow’s eyes widened as she realized that her new commander was willing to simply leave her here to her own devices. “It’s just…I’ve never seen so many…different species, all at once…“ she explained uncertainly. “I’d like the chance to…”

*Think this through…remind myself why this is okay for them…that they’re just monsters, not people…*

“…take some notes, study a bit.”

Walsh nodded, an approving smile on her face. “Go right ahead, Willow. Take your time. I’ve got some work to take care of, and I’ll be in my office when you finish.”

As Walsh disappeared through the door at the end of the hall, Willow felt an unexpected sense of relief at finding herself alone -- more or less.

She couldn’t quite say what it was about the situation that she found so disconcerting. After all, these strange, scary creatures were no different from the ones that Buffy slayed every night. They were the bad guys; their imprisonment was deserved -- no, *necessary*, for the protection of human beings.

Still, it seemed somehow…wrong.

“Red?”

Willow jumped, startled at the low, familiar voice, and spun around to face its owner. He was standing near the invisible barrier at the front of his cell, watching her through bleary, vaguely distant eyes, apparently as surprised to see her here as she was to see him.

“Spike.”

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked her, his voice hoarse but holding a note of genuine interest, and just for a moment, she saw a teasing sparkle in those strangely hazy blue eyes.

Willow tried to compose herself, reminding herself that this was an entirely different situation from the last time she had come into contact with Spike. This time, he was the prisoner, and he had no broken bottle to brandish in her face. She had no reason to feel the nervous, fluttering sensation that had just started afresh in her stomach.

Of course, the fact that Spike was utterly and completely naked was not in any way helping her comfort level.

“Well…I could ask you the same question,” Willow replied in what she hoped was a casual tone as she stepped a bit closer to his cell, reminding herself that there was no way that he could get to her through the electric barrier. “Except…” She frowned. “…You’re…not a girl…and…and I know exactly why you’re here, so…”

“You’ve got a key,” Spike observed, his voice strangely subdued, even as he cut off her rambling words. His eyes were wide, focused on the card in her hand, and Willow realized that he must have seen Walsh use a similar one to open the door at the end of the hall.

“Uh-huh,” Willow replied, mostly because she wasn’t sure what else to say. “I, um… work here now, so…” She shrugged. “…One of the perks.”

“Don’t s’pose you could…help a bloke out, here, could you, Red?”

Almost against her will, the redhead felt a pang of sympathy for the blond vampire. After all, though his nakedness was awkward for *her*, she supposed it must be rather more embarrassing for him. And once she looked closer -- she almost couldn’t *help* looking closer -- she noticed that he appeared badly injured, covered in bruises and other marks.

And it was impossible to miss the note of desperation in his voice…desperation, and hope.

Hope she would have to deny.

“Um…sorry, Spike, but…n-no. I can’t. Do that,” she said, wondering at the struggle it was to get the words out.

*You shouldn’t feel guilty for this; he’s the bad guy! You’re doing the right thing here!*

“But…Willow…” Spike pleaded, and the desperation was even more evident now.

Willow winced but held her ground, no longer able to meet his eyes, as she declared more strongly, “No, Spike. I can’t let you out. Why would I, so you can threaten to cut up my face again? I -- I just can’t. You’re a prisoner here for a reason…and that reason is that you’re…you’re a killer, Spike. You *deserve* to be here. And…and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to change that. *Any* of it.”

Willow was quiet for a long moment, wanting to say more, though not sure exactly what. Then, she turned abruptly away, heading toward the door. Spike did not protest any further, though she was fully aware of the despair that had come over him with her words.

She stopped at the door, sliding her keycard and waiting for it to open.

Spike tried one last time. “Red…Willow, please…”

“No, Spike,” she insisted, barely over a whisper as the door slid open. “I’m sorry…but no.”

And she hurriedly left the cell block, and her old familiar enemy, behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Willow’s first day at the Initiative had been over for about ten minutes when thoughts of Oz crossed her mind for the first time all day.

The day had been full and busy and confusing and exciting…and had left little room for dwelling on her own personal issues. For the first time since Oz had left Sunnydale, Willow had spent a full day thinking of other things, rather than missing him and wondering if and when he might eventually return.

Of course, that was probably a good thing. Didn’t most employers seem to think that was a good thing?

To Willow, it was a very disturbing, upsetting thing.

*I can’t believe I haven’t thought about him! For a whole *day*! That’s not how it’s supposed to happen…he’s supposed to…to take his time, to get over his…his wolfy issues and come back to me…and I’m *not* supposed to forget about him in the mean ~~time!*~~

Some small, rational part of her mind pointed out that this could be a sign that she was finally getting over him…but the rest of her, the part that was still desperately clinging to the first love of her life, quickly rejected that idea.

*I don’t *want* to get over him! Oz and I…we’re meant to be! *Forever*. I can’t just…*

“Hey, Willow.”

She looked up abruptly, startled by the casual, friendly male voice, not really noticing the boy who had spoken until he had nearly passed her, going the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

“Hey, Marcus,” she replied quickly, acknowledging the boy that she remembered as one of Oz’s fellow band members.

As the boy disappeared down the sidewalk, Willow slowly stopped, realizing with surprise as she looked around her that she had unconsciously made her way not only back onto campus, but directly to the front walk leading up to the house where Oz had lived with the rest of the band.

She swallowed back the hard lump of sorrow that rose in her throat, as she slowly started walking again, up the path, which led to the stairs, which led to the room…the room where Oz’s things still remained…the last trace she had of her first love’s presence in her life.

From the day he had left, she had gone to his room almost every day, when she knew that his roommates would be in class or at work…just to feel close to him.

She had not been here since Professor Walsh had approached her about working for the Initiative.

She made her way through the house and up the stairs toward Oz’s room, an unreasoning sense of remorse filling her chest with a tight ache as she found herself outside his door and slipped it silently open. The moment that she looked into the familiar room…the ache in her chest turned to a cold, iron weight.

The room was empty.

****************************

 

“Devon said he sent for his stuff. I guess that means he’s planning on settling down somewhere. Else. Not here.”

Willow’s heart broke a little more even as she spoke the words, taking what little comfort she could in the soft reassurance of her familiar old pajamas and the shelter of her bed. Buffy sat on the edge of her own bed, her eyes sad and sympathetic as she listened to Willow’s story of what she had discovered when she had visited Oz’s room.

For the final time, apparently.

“I guess so,” the Slayer replied, worrying her lip in her obvious uncertainty as to what to say to console her friend.

Willow was certain that there was nothing Buffy could say to make this better. Finding Oz’s room empty, every last trace of evidence that he had ever even been there vanished, made his leaving finally, completely *real*…and all the feelings she had so easily forgotten that day came flooding back to her, overwhelming her all at once.

“I feel like…I’ve been split down the center, and half of me is lost,” she cried softly, tears streaking her face as she gave her friend a bleak, hopeless look.

“I know. It feels like that now…” Buffy began hesitantly.

“Oz is *gone*.”

“Willow, I know this is hard,” Buffy tried again. “And it will be for a long time. It’s gonna take a while, but eventually, you’ll be able to move on. You’ll be okay…”

“I think…I think maybe I was already starting to be,” Willow pointed out, frowning in confusion. “Until…until I went in there and saw…I mean…Buffy, I know this sounds horrible…but I think I was starting to…get *used* to the fact that he isn’t here!” Willow’s voice was ashamed, her eyes downcast.

Therefore, she missed the half-smile of relief on Buffy’s face as she countered cautiously, “No, Willow…it’s really not horrible…it’s kind of what’s *supposed* to…”

The shrill sound of Willow’s new, Initiative-issued beeper broke into Buffy’s words, and the Slayer stopped short, frowning at the little gadget on the nightstand that she had not noticed until that moment. She watched in surprise as Willow picked it up and looked at the number, before setting it down again and throwing her covers back to get up.

“When did you get a beeper?”

******************************

 

With a quick non-explanation and a promise to fill Buffy in later, Willow hurriedly got dressed and made her way across campus, back to the fraternity house where the closest entrance to the Initiative was located.

Within fifteen minutes of the beeper’s sounding, she was standing face to face with her new commander, perhaps a bit disheveled and certainly tear-streaked, but dutifully prepared to do whatever Professor Walsh might ask of her.

“Willow,” the woman acknowledged her with a curt nod, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got some training I’d like you to complete.” She paused before adding, “The page I sent you in itself was one aspect of your training…in that you need to be prepared to respond more quickly.”

Willow’s eyes widened in surprise at that.

She thought that she had made pretty good time.

“I expect any member of my staff here within ten minutes of being called at any given time, unless they have previously reported to me that they will be temporarily at a distance that would make that impossible,” Walsh explained. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry,” Willow quietly replied, her voice low and humble, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the mild reprimand.

“Your assignment is this, Willow,” Walsh went on as if nothing had happened, and Willow was relieved to see that she seemed to have already forgotten her new recruit’s mistake. “You will take the following forms down that hallway…” She gestured in the direction she wanted the girl to go. “…and to the temporary holding cells you will find at the end of the hall on the right-hand side. You will complete one form for each of the four newly captured hostiles contained there…thoroughly and correctly…and bring them back to me. Each hostile must be numbered. Start with number twenty-one.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Willow replied, taking the clipboard with the attached forms and the pen that Walsh offered her, and turning to obey her first orders.

“Willow.”

She turned back toward Professor Walsh, a nervous sensation in the pit of her stomach, wondering what mistake she had made this time. “Yes, Ma’am?”

Walsh studied her expression for a long moment before asking in a softer, concerned tone of voice, “Are you all right?”

Willow was a bit taken aback by the question, not having expected her new boss to notice or take an interest in her personal issues.

Actually…it was kind of nice.

“I’m okay…I mean…I’m just…dealing with a lot. My…someone very close to me just…just dropped out of school, and…I’ll be fine.”

Walsh’s expression was sympathetic as she listened to Willow’s awkward, rambling explanation, yet firm as she replied with an understanding nod, “I’m sure you will be, Willow. And I understand that you were called here on very short notice, and therefore were not as prepared as we both would have liked for you to be.” She paused, and when she spoke again her words were carefully chosen.

“This will be an excellent opportunity for you to practice the acquired skill of leaving your personal life at home when you are here.”

Willow studied her face for a moment, finding a mixture of command and compassion there that actually served to make her feel better. Professor Walsh understood where she was coming from, but was insisting on excellence in her work nonetheless.

And if there was one thing that Willow was good at delivering, it was excellence.

Maggie Walsh watched with a smile of approval as the little redhead made her way down the hallway to her first assignment, before turning to face the two young soldiers who were approaching her from the opposite direction.

“Agent Graham…Agent Peters.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’d like to perform some additional testing on Hostile 17. Go down to the containment cells and transport him to the testing area.”

“Yes, Commander,” two voices spoke in nearly perfect unison, and the soldiers immediately left to obey her commands, without hesitation or question.

Which was as it should be, she thought, with a small smile of satisfaction.

**********************************

 

Willow easily found the four temporary holding cells Walsh had told her about, which were really nothing more than portable metal cages. There were two on either side of the hall, each one with a strange creature locked inside, and to Willow’s great relief, the creatures all seemed to be asleep.

The first was a strange, misshapen lump of a thing, with four short, stubby legs and a large, long mouth like an alligator’s, full of hundreds of long, needle-like teeth that showed every time it opened its mouth to snore. Willow shuddered at the thought of coming into contact with those teeth when the thing was awake.

She wrote the number Walsh had told her to start with in the top corner of the sheet and then dutifully began writing down her observations about the creature, filling in the blanks beside the questions on the top form on her clipboard. Before long, Willow was in full-on study mode, her mind completely focused on the task at hand as she worked to complete it as quickly and as well as possible.

“What the…what in the blue blazes was *that*? Where am I?”

The voice came from behind her, much closer than she would have expected, and Willow jumped with a startled little yelp of fear, whirling around to face her previously undetected observer.

A demon with flesh-colored skin -- and lots of it -- was standing in the cage across from the one she was currently cataloguing, right next to the bars, watching her intently, with curiosity, and more than a little fear. Willow was surprised to see that he was wearing human clothes -- jeans and an extra large t-shirt -- and as she watched, he pulled a bag of Cheetos out from one of his many layers of folded, sagging skin.

“So, um…where am I?” he asked again hesitantly as he opened the bag and popped a Cheeto into his mouth. “Did I, um…did I do something wrong? Not that I’m protesting jail as an option instead of slaying if I did…I mean, hey, way to get with the times! But…what is this exactly?”

Willow was speechless for a few moments, not really sure how to respond. She was not accustomed to the demons she came into contact with making any attempt at casual conversation.

Of course, come to think of it, even if they wanted to, most of them were slain by Buffy before they would have the chance.

“Um…this is the Initiative. We, um…study demons,” she replied with an awkward little shrug, seeing no real reason not to answer his question. “And we…fix it so they can’t hurt people anymore.”

“Oh.” The loose-skinned demon frowned, thinking that over for a minute. “I guess that sort of makes sense. I mean, you guys are kind of low on the food chain around this town. Anything to even the odds a little, right?”

“Right.” Willow nodded, confused by the strange mixture of relief and guilt that his words caused her. It was comforting to know that even a demon could recognize the logic of what she was doing…but this demon’s calm acceptance of it made her feel uncomfortable. “Exactly. We’re just protecting ourselves from guys like you attacking us.”

“Unless you attack us first…right?”

Willow frowned. “Well…um…”

“I mean, it’s not like we’re the only ones who ever hurt anybody. Humans can do some damage when they want to, too,” the demon pointed out. He was quiet for a moment before shrugging. “Everybody has the right to self defense…right?”

“Um…I don’t…I mean…I guess I never…thought about that, um…” Willow’s halting, uncertain words cut off as she searched her mind for what to call him.

“Demon” seemed rather imperious and demeaning to her, but she did not know his name.

Did he even *have* a name?

“Clem.”

“What?”

“My name is Clem,” the demon informed her matter-of-factly. “You looked like you were, uh…searching.”

“Oh. Um…thanks…Clem. I’m Willow,” she told him almost automatically, before realizing the ridiculous nature of what she was doing.

She was supposed to be down here cataloguing and numbering the demons…not engaging in casual conversation with them. Was there some rule against inter-species fraternization around here? Willow was quite sure that there had to be.

*I mean, talk about your major power imbalance…*

Of course, that thought was in no way comforting to her already confused mind.

When she left the Initiative compound later that night to return to her dorm room, her head was filled with conflicting thoughts about how much of Sunnydale’s high crime rate was due to demonic attacks, and how much of it was due to the human variety of evil.

Demons were so dangerous because they were usually so much stronger…more powerful…than their human victims. But what happened when that power dynamic was shifted so drastically as by the Initiative’s work? Was it more acceptable to place all demons at the mercy of human captors than to allow humans to be at the mercy of demons?

It had to be…hence the Slayer and her supernatural calling to protect humanity.

*Right*?

“Stupid demon,” Willow muttered, as she quietly opened the door to her empty dorm room and slipped inside, undressing and getting into bed without turning on the light. “Why’d he have to be so gosh darn *friendly*?”


	6. Chapter 6

Spike could not remember the last time he had been so hungry.

He lay naked, huddled on the bare white tile floor of his tiny cell, trembling with cold and pain, and weak with hunger. The bruises from the beating he had taken at the hands of the soldiers had not faded much, not without any blood to speed their healing. He was sore and exhausted and ravenous and disoriented from the steady stream of drugs injected into his system every few hours…not to mention terrified, having no idea what these humans had in store for him next.

In short…he was bloody miserable.

He had felt a brief flash of hope when he saw the Slayer’s little redheaded friend in the hall outside his cell. He didn’t know her well, but she had always seemed like a soft-hearted sort of girl, and he had expected her to see the desperation of his plight and attempt to do something to help him.

*But then…why the bloody hell should she? Last time she saw you, you were threatening to soddin’ kill her! For all she knows, you’d thank her for letting you go by tearing out her throat!*

Although Spike could clearly see the reasons why Willow had been unwilling to help him, it did not make it any less disappointing.

His attention was drawn from his morose thoughts by a soft whooshing sound, and he looked up to see two large soldiers standing outside his cell. He realized that the sound he had heard was the opening of his cell door, when they walked easily inside, unimpeded by the electrical force that had shocked him when he had tried to leave the cell earlier.

Warily, Spike struggled to his feet as they approached him, glancing toward the open space where a wall had been moments before.

“Don’t even think about it, Seventeen,” one of the soldiers advised with a smirk. “We’d take you down so fast…”

Spike responded with a low growl of warning as the soldiers moved toward him, deliberately blocking him into one corner of the cell, leaving him no room to maneuver away from them as they closed in. When they struck, Spike realized with dismay just how badly his hunger and injuries had affected his reflexes.

They caught his arms easily and started pulling him toward the hallway -- and suddenly, the cell didn’t seem like such a bad place to be. Spike had no idea where they were taking him, or why, but he knew after his last experience that their intentions could not be in his best interests.

He struggled to pull away from them but was terribly weakened by his hunger, and was appalled to find that they were stronger than he was. When he could not pull free, he allowed his vampire face to come forward and snarled at them, lunging toward the one on his right with his fangs extended.

Before he could even connect fang with flesh, a powerful electric shock coursed through his head, nearly driving him to his knees with an unintentional moan of pain. The soldiers laughed, clearly amused by his suffering…but the laughter faded in an instant.

The soldier on his left suddenly grabbed him and shoved him hard up against the wall of the hallway, slamming his face against the unyielding concrete as he leaned in behind him and snarled, “Think you can fight us, vampire? Think you’re all big and bad? You can’t…and you’re not. If you forget that again, we might just decide that chip in your head’s not doing a good enough job. You know, there are *other* ways to keep you under control, Seventeen.”

Spike’s thoughts were too thoroughly muddled by hunger, drugs, and the sharp blow he had just taken to the head to allow him to even think of responding -- not that the soldier seemed inclined to wait for a response. Abruptly, he yanked Spike back away from the wall by his hair, and the two men continued dragging him down the hallway, toward whatever fate their commander had in mind for him.

Delirious and disoriented, it took Spike’s mind a few moments to recognize the huge stone and plexiglass testing facility where he had first discovered the awful truth about the wretched piece of machinery they had implanted in his brain, and how thoroughly it had stripped him of his natural defenses.

The soldiers leading him released him roughly, shoving him to his knees on the floor, and Spike looked up to see that he was once again surrounded on every side by armed soldiers, staring down at him impassively and awaiting their orders. The only difference was that, this time, the woman giving those orders was standing within the circle, smiling coolly down at him from a few yards away.

“Hello, Seventeen.”

Spike struggled weakly to his feet. His voice came out slightly slurred, but the words were still distinguishable as he retorted sullenly, “’M not a bloody number. The name’s Spike, and you’d do best to remember it.”

“You’re an animal. A thing. You don’t merit the respect of a name, Seventeen,” Walsh contradicted his words, seemingly unaffected by his vague threat. Without pause, she continued, “You must be very hungry by this point, aren’t you, Seventeen?”

The shift in subject was so abrupt that, for a moment, Spike’s addled mind did not comprehend the question. When it registered with him, it only served to arouse his suspicions.

“If I am?” he asked quietly, his eyes struggling to focus on hers, to read her intentions in her impenetrable gaze.

“If you are,” she echoed slowly, “then we should feed you.”

“One would think so,” Spike drawled, leveling a withering glare at her, “’cept that I’ve been here for days now…and I’ve yet to get a bloody sip to eat…so something tells me my nourishment’s not exactly at the top of your soddin’ list.”

Walsh shrugged without sympathy. “It’s not my highest priority,” she admitted, unapologetic. “But it’s got to be done at some point. After all, we want you to be a healthy specimen, Seventeen, not a skeletal, malnourished waste of my time and effort.”

Spike was, understandably, very skeptical.

“I’ve arranged a meal for you,” Walsh informed him, a speculative smile on her lips. “You have only to follow your own despicable nature…to catch it, and kill it…and eat.”

Spike frowned in confusion. “Can’t, remember? ‘Cause of this bloody doohickey you lot shoved in my brain.”

“No, Seventeen.” Walsh’s smile widened. “You misunderstand.”

As she spoke, she gestured with one hand to one of the men making up the circle surrounding the trapped vampire, and he broke formation to bend down over something behind him, working with it as Walsh clarified Spike’s situation with a malicious smile.

“The chip in your head only prevents you from killing *humans*.”

Spike’s eyes widened as the soldier carried a small metal cage into the center of the circle, set it on the floor, and remained leaning over it, his eyes on Walsh, waiting for her command to release the small animal inside.

It was a young pig.

Spike could feel his humiliated rage boiling up inside him at the cruel reminder of all that had been taken from him -- of the pathetic state to which these humans had managed to reduce him. For over a century, he had been a notorious predator, seeking out not only his natural prey, but his natural predators as well, and destroying two Slayers in glorious battle.

Those epic conquests had been about more than killing for food. It had been an art…an honor.

And this woman expected to reduce him to chasing after a little pig, within the view and for the amusement of his human captors.

“I’ll bloody starve first.”

Walsh’s eyes narrowed in anger at his refusal, and for a moment, though he tried to deny it, Spike felt a brief flash of fear. After all, this woman held his very existence in her hands. He could see the fury in her eyes, knew that she wanted to punish him for his bold defiance…and knew that she *could*, as well.

“You will, then, Seventeen,” she declared coldly. “I assure you, if you do not accept what is offered to you for food…you *will* starve.” She paused, before going on thoughtfully, “Of course, I’ve always heard that the starvation process with a vampire is much more prolonged and fascinating than that of a human. Perhaps we’re going about the wrong series of experiments with you, Seventeen…”

“All right.”

Spike’s voice was low as he ground out the words that were almost painful for him to speak. The unthinkable direction in which her words had been leading was a place that Spike did not want to even imagine going. He had his pride, yes…but he was not bloody stupid. He knew enough to do what he had to do to survive, and worry about redeeming his precious pride later, when he could.

When he had these humans at his mercy, and could make them properly pay for what they were putting him through now.

Lost in his own thoughts, Spike did not notice when Walsh stepped back out of the circle, nodding to the soldier to release the pig from its cage. The young man then took his place in the circle again, and Spike’s eyes widened with alarm when he saw the soldiers move in perfect synchronization, each taking out a small black taser and holding it ready in his hand.

“Careful,” Walsh warned him, and Spike looked up to see her standing on a slightly elevated platform at the edge of the room, watching him with a cruel gleam in her eyes. “You wouldn’t want to get too close to my men while you’re hunting, Seventeen. They might get the wrong idea as to your intentions.”

Spike stared at the small, squealing animal, running into the legs of the men enclosing it, only to be nudged roughly back into the circle. Hot shame flooded his face at the humiliation that was being forced upon him, and the knowledge that if he wanted to survive…if he did not want to be slowly starved until he no longer possessed even the slightest strength to resist his human captors…he would have to succumb to it.

His jaw clenched in frustrated determination, Spike leapt toward the pig, deciding that if he was going to be forced to do this, he would do it quickly, and make this shameful incident as brief as possible. But the little animal was faster than he had expected, sliding out of his grasp and running to the opposite side of the circle.

Or perhaps, Spike was slower than he had expected.

When he went after the pig a second time, Spike slightly misjudged the distance, and found himself running into the wall of soldiers instead. The young men gleefully employed their tasers, all who were within reach of him striking out and administering painful electric shocks with the nasty little weapons. Twice more, Spike tried to catch the pig, and instead only caught jolt after jolt of agonizing electricity coursing through his body.

Eventually, he found himself on his hands and knees on the floor, stars dancing before his eyes, his body tingling in various places from the vicious shots he had taken from dozens of tasers. He shook his head, trying to clear it, before going after the pig again, frustration and desperation beginning to take their toll on his already strained psyche, compounding his shame and despair as he snatched at the squealing, writhing animal, not really expecting to catch it anymore.

But this time…he did.

Not wanting to give it the chance to slide from his grasp again, Spike employed a swift, sharp blow to break the pig’s back, crippling it so that it could not get away. He knew that its blood would make barely a mouthful…but it was all he had at the moment, so he would have to make do.

Shifting into his game face, he plunged his fangs down toward the little animal’s throat…unaware that above him on the platform, Walsh was smiling sadistically as she swiftly altered the chip’s settings on the panel in front of her.

When Spike’s fangs pierced the creature’s flesh, before he could draw in even a taste of the wretched swill that flowed through its veins, a searing, violent burst of electricity tore through his head, overwhelming his body and mind, and plunging the exhausted, battered vampire into the blackness of unconsciousness.

***********************************

 

Several days had passed since Willow had started working with the Initiative…and she was still having difficulty with the whole “leaving personal issues at home” thing.

She sat at one of the terminals in the computer lab at the Initiative, trying very hard to study the files that Professor Walsh had given her the passcodes for that morning. Each of them was supposedly filled with useful information about various demon types and data that other Initiative scientists had already managed to gather; but most of it was information that Willow had learned long ago, simply by being the best friend of a vampire Slayer.

*Being a best friend…being *with* my best friend…doesn’t sound half bad right now…*

Since she had started working here, Willow had begun to feel more and more lonely. Her “missing Oz” moments had not decreased; and she found that she had less and less time to spend with her friends, and therefore little chance to open up to anyone about what she was going through.

She leaned further in between the flimsy little walls that blocked off her computer terminal from the others, as she felt tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. It would not do at all to allow her new co-workers to see how unprofessional she was being at the moment.

Just when she was sure that she was going to have to get up and leave, to take a restroom break until she had gotten the tears out of her system, a shadow fell over her terminal, and she realized with a trapped sense of dread that it was Professor Walsh.

*Can’t let her see that I’ve been crying…not here…she’ll think I’m not cut out for this after all…but maybe I’m *not* cut out for this after all…but I want to be…I think…oh, crap…*

“I have a new assignment for you, Willow.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Willow replied without hesitation, hoping that the beginnings of tears did not show in her eyes as she looked up at the professor and forced a smile.

Professor Walsh placed three manila folders in her hands, smiling back as she explained, “These are the records for Hostiles 12, 14, and 17. I need you to follow the instructions you were given in your initial training, and collect hair, blood, and tissue samples from each of them.”

Willow’s eyes widened in surprise, and she gave her commander an apprehensive look.

“You mean…like, actual samples? From their…their bodies? That would involve…touching them, right?”

Walsh’s smile took on a note of patient amusement, as she replied, “Yes, of course, Willow. Don’t be nervous. You may feel free to take along a couple of the soldiers if you’d like, for your own protection. The hostiles are all chipped, and incapable of harming you, but many of the female scientists find it reassuring to take soldiers with them. You may do so if you like.”

Willow was quite sure that she *would* like.

After Professor Walsh walked away, Willow turned her attention to the files in her hands, and the descriptions of the creatures she would be dealing with.

The first one sounded positively scary, and Willow decided right then that she would be taking back up in the form of big, burly, armed soldiers. The physical description included tremendous height and strength and lots of teeth -- and that was not something she wanted to get into on her own.

It was when she got to the file on Hostile 17, however, that Willow felt her stomach drop, as she read the description of the demon from which she would be collecting samples.

*Vampire…average height…platinum blond…excessively vocal…*

“Oh, my God,” she sighed, as she realized what she had just gotten herself into. “Hostile 17 is Spike!”


	7. Chapter 7

With the creepy description of the first of the hostiles she was assigned to fresh in her mind, Willow sought out a couple of soldiers to accompany her to the holding cells. She knew that the hostiles were all chipped, and therefore unable to harm her, but she still could not quite bring herself to face that scary, toothy, slimy thing all by herself.

With one glance at the thing, she could tell it was probably not capable of any kind of human communication.

As she and the soldiers entered its cage, it snarled at her, a wet, slobbering sound that both terrified her and made her sick to her stomach; but when it lunged toward her to attack, its fierce growl turned to a high, sharp whimper of pain, and it collapsed to the floor, trembling and whining in a weak, frightened protest.

Willow frowned, a bit startled by how much pain it seemed to be in.

*Gosh…I didn’t know those chips hurt the demons that bad…*

“Stupid animal!” one of the soldiers spat at the creature, drawing back one heavily booted foot and kicking it in its mid-section. “No! Bad!”

“Hey!” Willow objected, her eyes widening with dismay as she looked between the flinching, cowering creature and the soldier standing over it, still kicking it viciously. “Hey…that’s really not necessary, is it?”

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” said the other soldier, standing calmly near the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a grim smile on his face as he watched his comrade’s actions. “You gotta let these things know who’s boss, Babe. Just like any other vicious animal.”

Willow watched with relief as the soldier stepped away from the battered, cringing creature on the floor, and wondered vaguely to which “vicious animal” his comrade had been referring.

She was afraid of a similar scene with the second demon, but fortunately, the creature -- a strange but completely un-scary little thing about the size of a large dog, though vaguely humanoid in form -- was already terrified, huddled back against the far wall of its cage, and not daring to resist as she entered and took the required samples.

The soldiers never had to touch it.

Willow was afraid that the same would not be true for Hostile 17 -- Spike.

“Well, thanks, guys,” she announced as they locked the door to the second cage behind them, after walking out into the hall. “That’s it. Thanks for helping me out with that.”

If her stilted words betrayed her lie, Willow was too nervous to notice. She ventured a look up at the soldiers, hoping that her expression was convincingly innocent. She had not told them precisely how many hostiles she was supposed to see, and she was quite certain that she did not want the soldiers to be with her when she saw Spike.

“Cool,” one of the soldiers replied casually, shrugging as both turned and headed toward the door. He stopped as he reached it, glancing over his shoulder with a curious frown at the little redhead, still standing awkwardly in the hallway, watching their progress. “You coming?”

“Um…not just yet,” Willow replied with a shaky smile. “I just wanna…take some notes.” She held up her clipboard as evidence. “I know the way back, I’ll…I’ll see you later.”

“Suit yourself.”

And just like that, she was alone.

Sort of.

Willow turned toward the cells, taking a deep breath as she pushed the cart holding her equipment and the samples she had already taken toward the one where Spike was held. She knew that he could not actually harm her, but she was not sure whether or not the cocky blond vampire would be cooperative with her collection of the samples; and, though she wasn’t exactly sure why she should care, what with the whole broken-bottle-in-the-face history between the two of them, she did not want the soldiers to hurt him like they had hurt the other poor creature.

However, when she stepped into the cell, leaving her cart behind her in the hallway and taking only the equipment she needed, it appeared that someone else had already done more damage than those two soldiers could have thought about.

He was lying on the floor, still completely naked, his body covered in bruises and dark red marks with ugly black lines running underneath…electrical burns, judging by their appearance. He had been painfully thin when she had seen him before, but now he was nearly skeletal, his normally pale coloring now a bloodless, almost translucent white.

At her soft gasp of dismay, he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes clouded and unfocused, and Willow was not sure if he even recognized her. He looked confused and disoriented, staring blankly up at her and blinking a couple of times, before finally speaking in a low, raspy whisper that made her wince; it actually sounded painful.

“Red?”

“Um…yeah, it’s me,” she said softly, feeling strangely self-conscious.

Shaking her head to clear it, Willow refocused her eyes on the equipment in her hands and headed toward the spot where the vampire lay, kneeling at his side and laying her supplies out on the floor beside him. She jumped, startled, when she felt a cool, feather-light touch on her arm, and looked down to see Spike’s hand resting weakly there.

It was trembling.

“Red,” he whispered, looking up at her through crystal blue eyes that were wide and lost and fearful…something she had never seen in Spike’s fierce gaze before. “You wouldn’t happen to…you don’t have any…any blood in that cart, do you?”

Willow grimaced, feeling an unwelcome wave of compassion wash through her. In that moment, she wished desperately that she did have some kind of nourishment to offer him, something to ease the painful starvation he was obviously enduring. But then, she remembered that she *did* have food for him…under other conditions she *was* his natural food…and she set her jaw, steeling herself to simply do the job she had been sent here to do and go…before things could get any more confusing.

“I don’t, Spike,” she said softly, not quite able to look at him as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

She felt another pang as his weak, pale hand slipped from her arm, but swallowed back the hard lump that rose in her throat as she picked up a pair of sharp, surgical scissors. His sudden sharp intake of breath drew her eyes back to his in a concerned frown, and Willow’s stomach dropped when she saw the look on his face.

Spike was afraid.

Of *her*.

Bewildered and strangely disturbed by that knowledge, Willow followed his wide-eyed gaze…to the scissors in her hand.

“Oh, no…no,” she hurriedly explained, shaking her head emphatically as she held up the scissors, only to have the vampire flinch back away from them, his eyes darting warily between her face and the object in her hands. “No, Spike, they’re not for cutting…I mean, they *are* for cutting, but I’m not gonna…well, I am, but…I mean…they’re for your hair! I’m not gonna…hurt you with them, I…promise…”

She felt some of her tension released as the fear faded from his eyes, and he let out a bitter, soundless laugh, shaking his head and looking away from her for a moment. When he looked at her again, it seemed that he could not quite meet her eyes.

“I…I didn’t reckon you could, Red. You…you don’t seem the type,” he whispered.

“Well, that’s good to know,” she muttered, without really meaning to speak aloud, as she reached one hand out to carefully lift his head and quickly snipped a bit of his hair with the scissors held in her other hand. She was painfully aware as Spike tensed when the scissors came close, and then deliberately forced himself to relax as she took them away and gently lowered his head back down to the cold, stone floor.

She carefully put the small amount of hair into a plastic baggie, and put it and the scissors to the side as she picked up a scalpel and reached for Spike’s arm. She glanced over at him to see his eyes locked onto the place where she was touching him, and felt him tense up again as the scalpel entered his line of vision.

  
“It’s just a small skin sample,” she explained, her voice low and gentle. “It’s not even gonna hurt, Spike. Thanks to the wonders of modern DNA science. All I have to do is just gently scrape your skin with the scalpel, and collect just a few cells in this little bag…okay?”

Spike’s gaze shifted to her face, a look of curiosity and surprise in his eyes. “You actually asking me, love?”

Willow was feeling more uncomfortable with this entire situation by the moment. “Um…yeah,” she admitted. Then, she shrugged as she added apologetically, “Not that it…matters…if you say no.”

Spike laughed again, though it had a slightly less bitter sound to it this time. She smiled uncertainly, unsure what he had to find amusing in this situation, which was clearly miserable for him, as she proceeded to gather the skin sample, and laid the scalpel and baggie aside. When he spoke again, his voice soft and hoarse and genuinely wondering, Willow was struck by the question…one she had been asking herself for the past hour.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Um…I work here…”

“Why?”

“Um…I just…I wanna do something. To help. You know, in the…the fight between good and evil and all that…and it’s not like Buffy really needs my help…and…”

“You’ve been crying.”

Willow’s awkward, rambling explanation cut off abruptly with his quiet observation, and she looked away from him quickly. “No, I haven’t,” she lied, swallowing back a sob that rose in her throat at the mere gentleness in his voice. “I just…um…allergies, and…”

“No…you’ve been crying,” Spike insisted calmly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I just…”

“Come on, Red…your secret’s safe with me…” Spike cajoled, a hint of his old trademark smirk on his face, though there was a warmth in his eyes that she did not remember seeing before. “Who’m I gonna soddin’ tell, love?”

The sad humor in his eyes seemed to break something within Willow’s already fragile heart, and she suddenly felt as if the pain she had been trying so hard to hold back all day was all bubbling up to the surface, threatening to pour out and expose itself to anyone around her.

*Maybe it’s better if it’s Spike than if it’s Professor Walsh or the others…*

“Well…Oz…you met Oz, didn’t you?”

“Er…the wolf boy?”

“Yeah…well…he met a wolf girl. And he…he said they were just friends, and I knew there was more to it, but I was stupid and just believed him because that’s what I was supposed to do, and next thing I know I’m being cheated on, and just when I’m coming to terms with that…or…*not* coming to terms with it, but trying really hard…I’m being walked out on, too…and he’s gone…and then, not only he’s gone but his stuff’s gone, too, which means that he’s *really* gone, and everybody expects me to just get over it and be all stiff-upper-lippy, and I just can’t really do that, and…and…why am I even telling you this? You’re probably just being nice to me because you still think you can talk me into letting you go, and you absolutely can…not…so…”

“Stupid boy.”

“Yes. You are. Because I am *not* going to…”

“No…the wolf boy,” Spike clarified, grimacing as he swallowed painfully in an attempt to wet his throat enough to speak. “I mean…to let a girl like you go…”

Willow’s eyes were focused on the floor beside him, and she raised one hand in a “what did I tell you?” kind of gesture as she said, “See? Flattery. Watch it gettin’ you nowhere, buddy…”

“’S not flattery. ‘S the truth,” Spike insisted. “You’re bloody bitable, love…and not just bitable…turnable, too…”

Willow frowned, puzzled and unsettled by his words. “See, that part where you were gettin’ nowhere? Now you’re going in reverse.”

“That’s a bloody high compliment, love!” Spike informed her, sounding a bit offended. “If I was him…had a girl like you, and no bloody chip in my head…well, I’d be all about holding onto you as long as I could…making sure it was forever, yeah?”

“Well,” Willow remarked with a tearful sniff, as she picked up the hypodermic needle for the last sample -- the blood sample -- and held it poised over his arm. “That’s really sweet. Probably just…trying to get me to let you go, but…” She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment, stunned by the genuine compassion she saw there. Her last words were a distracted whisper. “…but really sweet.”

She shook herself out of her reverie and focused on his arm as she drew the blood from his vein. Her eyes widened with alarm as she saw that the blood was unusually dark and thick and moved slowly through the needle. She looked back up at the vampire with concern, her mouth open to comment on what she had observed.

Before she could speak, Spike’s cool, frail hand was pressed to her cheek. She stared at him, stunned, as he gently wiped tears from her face -- tears she had not even realized she had shed -- with his thumb, giving her a sympathetic smile, his expressive blue eyes warm and understanding. His hand slid thoughtlessly from her cheek to rest lightly at the back of her neck in a gesture of affection.

Willow opened her mouth to speak, though she had no idea what she was going to say.

And she never got the chance to figure it out.

“Oh, my God! Miss Rosenberg! Quick, it’s attacking her!” a male voice shouted in anger and fear.

Willow whirled around, and her heart sank as she heard the cell door opening again, and saw the two soldiers she had dismissed rushing into the cell, batons drawn in their hands. Apparently, she had been gone long enough to arouse someone’s concern.

“Wait…wait, it’s okay…” she tried to explain, jumping to her feet and holding her hands out in a defensive gesture as she stood between the soldiers and the helpless vampire on the floor.

They ignored her completely.

One of the soldiers grabbed her and pulled her effortlessly out of the way, while the other rushed toward Spike, indignant fury in his eyes, his stance, every aspect of his demeanor. As Willow watched in horror, he leveled a merciless kick to the vampire’s exposed stomach, doubling him over in agony.

“How dare you even think you can *touch* her, you disgusting bloodsucker!” the soldier snarled.

“No!” Willow cried out. “He wasn’t hurting me, he can’t even…”

“It was about to attack you, Miss Rosenberg,” the soldier now restraining her told her urgently. “Its hand was on your neck already, you probably just hadn’t registered it. Next thing you knew, it would have been biting you!”

“He *can’t* bite me!” she objected, trying to pull away, but to no avail.

The soldier brought his baton down brutally on Spike’s back, arms, legs, as the injured, helpless vampire folded in on himself in a futile attempt at self-defense. He did not say a word in protest, did not struggle or try to fight at all; and, although Willow knew that he *couldn’t* fight back, that just made the whole thing that much more horrific.

“Stop!” she cried out in anguished frustration. “Leave him alone! Just *stop*!”


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Willow managed to regroup enough to try to free herself from the soldier restraining her, he had already dragged her out of Spike’s cell and locked it again behind them, leaving his comrade inside, still viciously beating the weakened and helpless vampire, who was not even trying to defend himself against the rain of blows falling on him.

“Let me *go*!” Willow demanded indignantly, tearing free of the strong hand holding her arm…only to realize that the soldier had let her go already, as she stumbled and nearly lost her balance. Staggering to a stop as she regained her footing, Willow huffed, “*Thank* you!”

She anxiously turned her eyes back toward the cell, horrified to see Spike huddled against the far wall, too badly starved and injured even to protest or plead for mercy, but holding up his hands weakly in the universal gesture for “I’m not fighting back, so please don’t hurt me.”

Apparently, the soldier did not speak “universal”.

“Stop it!” Willow cried out, pounding her fist against the invisible barrier to get the man’s attention, letting out a startled gasp when the force field knocked her backward a step or two. She quickly recovered, moving forward again, though this time she did not touch the barrier. “Stop it! Can’t you see he’s too weak to hurt anyone? Stop!”

“What is your issue?” the soldier beside her asked in irritation. “It’s just a vamp. Who cares?”

Willow turned around and stared at him in horrified disbelief for a long moment, opening her mouth to respond…before realizing that she really wasn’t sure what her argument was going to be.

After all…it *was* “just a vamp”…wasn’t it?

Buffy slayed vampires every night. Just because this happened to be a vampire that she sort of knew -- in the “tried to kill her on more than one occasion” kind of way -- did not make Spike any different…did it? If Buffy happened to run into him on patrol, she would stake him just the same as any other vampire, wouldn’t she?

Wasn’t this the same thing, only perhaps a bit more involved?

But for all her attempts at talking herself around, Willow knew deep down that it was *not* the same -- not at all.

Her jaw setting in stubborn determination, she turned on her heel and stalked angrily away from the scene, aware that she was unable to do anything to stop it…but she knew who *was* able. Purposefully, she headed toward the main laboratory, where she had last seen Professor Walsh.

 

********************************

“…and he wasn’t even trying to fight back at all, and the guy just kept kicking him and

kicking him and hitting him…and he *couldn’t* fight back, because he’s hurt and weak, and I don’t think they’ve even been feeding him, like, at all, and he wasn’t even trying to hurt me in the first place, he was just *talking* to me, and they shouldn’t have…”

“It touched her, Commander,” one of the soldiers broke in from where he stood, directly behind the irate little redhead. “It had its hand on her neck.”

Walsh’s calm expression did not change as she looked from the soldier back at Willow expectantly, waiting for her to explain that.

“He was just being friendly!” she insisted. “We’d…met before here, and he was just…saying hi. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He *can’t* hurt me; he has that chip!”

“She didn’t know it, but she was in danger, Commander.”

“I was *not* in danger!” Willow whirled around to face the young man, her eyes blazing with enough anger to make him take a quick step backward, in spite of the fact that he was twice her size. “He was *not* going to hurt me! You just want an excuse for your mean bullying, you…you…mean…bully!”

The soldier let out a weary sigh and did not acknowledge her accusation, simply giving Walsh a helpless look.

“All right,” the professor finally said. “Men, you’re dismissed. Go back to your regular duties. Miss Rosenberg…in my office.”

“But…but aren’t you even going to make them feed him? Or check on him, or something? I mean, that was just…”

“Please, save it for my office, Miss Rosenberg.”

Walsh’s voice was still calm and even, almost pleasant, but there was a warning edge to it that caused Willow to fall silent, as she followed the woman down the hall toward the privacy of her office. Neither of them said another word until the door was firmly closed behind them, and both were seated, Walsh behind her desk and Willow in front of it.

“I take it what you saw greatly upset you,” Walsh remarked, her eyes concerned and questioning as she met Willow ’s gaze.

“Well…of course it upset me,” Willow acknowledged, a bit taken aback by the words. “I mean…they were *beating* him. For no reason. Just…just hitting him and kicking him, when he wasn’t any threat to them. He could barely even crawl away, let alone…”

“It.”

“Excuse me?” Willow blinked, startled by the correction.

“You must learn to stop referring to the hostiles in human terms, Willow. ‘He’, ‘she’…neither word applies to these creatures…at least, not in any greater sense than it would apply to a dog, or a pig, or some such terrestrial animal. It will help you a great deal in coming to terms with the way things are here if you would start referring to the hostiles in appropriate terms.”

Willow stared at the older woman for a long moment, unsure how to respond to her calloused remarks.

“Willow,” Walsh sighed, reading her uncertainty in her expression. “I know it’s hard to adjust to, especially with vampires, as they appear so much like human beings. But they *aren’t* human beings. They’re monsters. Killers. Animals more deadly than most people are ever aware exist. And we deal with them every single day. It is for that reason that they must be taught, and taught quickly, who is in control…”

“But he wasn’t trying to…”

Walsh cleared her throat severely, raising one eyebrow in Willow’s direction.

“*It*. The…vampire…wasn’t trying to…to hurt me…h- it just wanted to…”

“It is incapable of being truly friendly, Willow, or of any human emotion for that matter. If it was pretending to be interested in you, it was for some ulterior motive – most likely that of your death,” Walsh stated bluntly.

“Yeah…except for the part where he can’t kill me,” Willow muttered. Then, her eyes went wide as she saw the look on her commander’s face. “I – I mean…it’s just that…”

“It *can* kill you, Willow. Make no mistake of that. The chip in its head causes it great pain if it tries to harm a human being…but it does not render it incapable of doing such harm. If it wants to bad enough…and at this point, it likely does, as it’s been here under a week and therefore has not been fed yet…then it very well can harm you.”

“You…hold them for a *week* before you feed them?” Willow stared in disbelief at the older woman as her mind fastened onto that grim and troubling piece of information.

“At least,” Walsh affirmed, her mouth set in a tight line that seemed to dare Willow to challenge her. “They must be taught from the very beginning who is in control…how they must behave in order to avoid negative consequences. If they want to feed…if they want to avoid pain…they must learn absolute obedience.”

Willow was silent, taking that in, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what her commander was saying so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without the slightest trace of compassion for the suffering creatures she was describing.

“You will come to understand, Willow,” Walsh went on, a patient smile finally finding its way onto her face. “You can’t deal with these creatures as you’d deal with a person… because they’re *not* people. You must be hard…unyielding…pitiless. Because, if the tables were turned, you can know without any doubt…that is how you would be treated by them.”

Once more, Willow found herself speechless in the face of an argument which seemed logical on the surface, but filled her heart with a dark, cold sensation of dread.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied quietly. “I’m sure – I’m sure I’ll come to understand it. It just – takes some getting used to.”

 

**********************************

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Buffy announced as she walked into the dorm room she and Willow shared.

“Used to what?” Willow asked, setting her book down across her lap as she looked up at her best friend from the comfort of her bed.

“This whole night life thing,” the Slayer replied, gesturing vaguely toward the hall outside their room, where an impromptu party was apparently taking place, complete with loud, uproarious laughter and music so bass-heavy that they could feel it as well as they could hear it. “I mean…I’m used to sneaking in the window and trying not to wake up Mom. Here, I come in from slaying at…” Buffy glanced at the clock beside her bed as she reached for her pajamas. “…one o’clock, and nobody gives it a second thought.”

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

“The slaying.”

Buffy seemed surprised that Willow was asking, and shrugged. “All right, I guess. Nothing but a few random vamps. And, believe me, they were nothing to write home about. I swear, they practically crawled out of their graves and made a bee line for my stake.”

“That must have been…uh…boring,” Willow observed. “Bet you wish the fights had…lasted a little longer, huh?”

Buffy gave her a puzzled frown before shrugging again. “I don’t know. It’s nice to have a break from the heavy-duty violence every once in a while. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, I guess…I just wonder what it’s like sometimes,” Willow hedged. “I mean…do you *like* slaying?”

“Do I *like* it?” Buffy echoed dubiously. “Will, where is this coming from?”

“I just…I’ve just been thinking lately, about…vampires, and people, and…what makes them different.”

“Easy. Vampires are evil. They have no souls.” The Slayer’s standard explanation fell easily from her lips.

Willow again thought uneasily of the soldier, and the grim smile of sadistic satisfaction on his face as Spike had huddled against the wall in a vain attempt to escape his savage kicks.

“But…humans do evil things, too. Very evil things. Like -- like serial killers. Rapists. And those people have souls, don‘t they?”

“Who says they do?” Buffy muttered darkly. “Those kinds of people…they’re evil, too. Even though I can’t slay them, I still think *somebody* should.”

 

 

Willow pondered that for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. It was not surprising, really, that a Slayer might be in support of the death penalty.

“So…vampires don’t count as people because they’re evil and have no souls…so that means that…it’s okay to do whatever you want to them…because they don’t really matter. They’re not human. Right?” Willow turned troubled eyes on Buffy, only to look away uncomfortably at the piercing gaze her best friend was giving her.

“I mean,” she went on with a careless shrug and a smile that she hoped didn’t look as forced as it was, “what if you just feel like beating the crap out of one of them one night? Like if he…I don’t know…talks about your mama or something. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Buffy laughed. “I guess not, as long as it doesn’t go too far. I’ve gotta say, I’ve taken a little longer than I had to, to slay a few particularly annoying vamps.” She was quiet for a moment, before giving a little grimace as she admitted, “And there’ve been a few times…you know, when I’d had a…a really bad day, or something…that I took a few minutes to…um…work out my aggressions…”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Willow shrugged, though she was by no means decided on the matter in her mind. “I mean…if it’s okay to kill them…then it’s okay to do…whatever. Right?”

Buffy frowned. “Within reason. I mean…there are some things that are just wrong, even if it *is* a vamp you’re talking about.”

“Like…torture, for instance,” Willow suggested quietly.

“Uh…huh…” Buffy stared at her uncertainly as she stated in a flat, certain tone, “Yeah. Torture is bad.”

“Even if it’s a vampire.”

“Well…yeah.” Buffy sounded as if she were just deciding that moment. “I mean…if you get attacked by a wild animal in the woods, and your life is in danger, you have every right to kill it and defend yourself. You don’t, on the other hand, have the right to tie it down and take seventeen hours disemboweling the thing, you know?”

“Yeah.” Willow nodded. “So…torture, hurting the vamps and demons for no good reason would be bad, even though they’re evil…but slaying them is okay.”

“Yeah,” Buffy answered thoughtfully. “I guess it is. I mean, it’s okay…better than okay…*good*…to slay them.”

“Right. But…what if you *didn’t* slay them? I mean…what if there was a way to figure out how to…to change them? To make them…not dangerous anymore?” Willow suggested.

“There’s not.”

“But what if there was? I mean…like you can declaw a cat if it does too much damage to the furniture…right?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, sounding intrigued herself at this point as she climbed into her bed. “That’s an interesting idea. But I mean…how would you do it? Like…take away their fangs, or something?”

Willow shivered at the vivid mental images that statement produced, but swallowed back her sick feeling of revulsion as she nodded. “Or something.”

“Wow. I -- I don’t know,” Buffy spoke in a quiet, thoughtful voice, her eyes wide and focused on the far wall as she pulled her blankets over her and settled into her bed. “I just think that…okay, vampires are evil and all, and we can’t let them overtake the world. I’ve got to even the odds, you know? Give the decent human people a chance. That’s a necessary thing. But…but a vampire is a predator. That’s just its nature. And…to keep it alive…or undead, anyway…but remove its ability to hunt…to survive…well, that’s just unnecessarily cruel, you know?”

Willow hesitated before asking her next question, not wanting to do anything to offend her friend, but finally decided to go ahead and say it.

“Isn’t that…isn’t that sort of what happened to Angel?”

Buffy shook her head immediately, with absolute certainty. “No,” she replied. “Angel always has a choice, even with the soul. Nobody went and took his fangs out and left him…helpless.” Now, Buffy’s voice sounded small and uncomfortable, and her eyes were troubled as she thought of the “hypothetical” scenario they had created. “No…that would be bad. Because…if he couldn’t find an open-minded butcher…couldn’t find a source of bagged blood…then he’d starve, you know? And that’s not right.”

“Even if it wasn’t Angel we’re talking about?”

Buffy frowned. “What *are* we talking about, Will?”

“I’m just…just curious. I’ve been thinking, and I just…wanted to know what you thought,” Willow replied, a bit defensively. “I mean…if it’s just some random vampire…do you think it’d be wrong to do something like that? To…to defang him?”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, considering. Finally, she replied, “I think it’d be kinder just to stake it. You know?”

“Yeah,” Willow quietly replied, her eyes focused on her bedspread. “I know.” She felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mind refocused on an image of a barely conscious, starving vampire, stroking her tears from her face with a cool, trembling hand.

Buffy was quiet for a moment, observing her friend. She opened her mouth with a curious expression on her face…and then closed it again. Whatever it was that was driving Willow to these questions, she would talk about it if she wanted to do so. If she didn’t, Buffy would not push her.

“I’m the Slayer,” she concluded in a voice of quiet conviction. “And I have a calling to protect people from the nasty things that go bump in the night. I don’t have a calling to chop them slowly into itty-bitty pieces until they scream for mercy. Some things are just…just bad, period. There’s no getting around that. Vampires and demons are some of them.” She paused before adding, “Torture is another. You can’t use evil to stop evil.”

A moment of heavy silence passed between them, each girl lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m tired,” Willow finally said, her voice small and just a little bit lost. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Will…”

“Really, Buffy. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment before relenting. “Okay. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Willow reached over and turned out the light…but sleep did not find her for a very long time.


	9. Chapter 9

Willow hurried through the underground halls of the Initiative compound, glancing anxiously at her watch as she turned down the hall containing the holding cells. It *was* directly between the main laboratory – where she had been instructed to meet Professor Walsh – and the entrance to the facility; so, really, it made perfect sense to go that way…even if there *were* various other routes she could have taken to get to her destination.

There was no other reason whatsoever why she wanted to go through the area where the prisoners were kept.

Willow told herself that repeatedly as she made her way down the hall, but her footsteps still slowed as she reached the cell where Spike was.

Or rather – where he had been.

She did not know whether to feel relief or apprehension when she saw that the vampire’s cell was empty.

*You shouldn’t feel anything at all!* she reminded herself sternly. *It’s Spike! The one who held a broken bottle in your face and threatened to use it to cut your face off, remember?*

Still, she swallowed back a hard knot in her throat when she noticed a suspiciously dark stain on the floor, a stain that very well might have been blood.

*Broken bottle. In face. Do not care. Bottle…in…face.*

She strode purposefully past the cell, staring straight ahead toward the door at the other end of the hall, which was feeling a lot like her salvation right then, and trying to ignore the sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the questions that sprang up to fill her mind.

“Willow?”

She stopped, turning toward the sound of her name in surprise to see the loose-skinned, friendly demon who had talked to her before – Clem, she thought he had said his name was – staring at her through the invisible wall that kept him in his new, more permanent prison.

*These creatures aren’t capable of being genuinely friendly…If it was friendly, it was probably in a ploy to deceive you and take your life…* Walsh’s words echoed in Willow’s head, though they did not sound as convincing now as they had sounded when the professor had spoken them.

They sounded even less convincing when Clem spoke again.

“It is…Willow, right? I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names…and I’m not exactly…at my best right now…” His voice sounded distracted, lost, and very, very tired.

Willow moved closer to the cell, her sick feeling intensifying as she took in the slightly dazed expression in the creature’s eyes, and the way his body shook with pain or weakness or fear or exhaustion…or some terrible combination of several of the above.

“That’s okay,” she assured him, her voice coming out gentler than she had intended, as she found herself stepping even nearer to the cell. “You got it right, anyway. It *is* Willow. Clem, right?”

The demon nodded wearily, his bleary eyes studying her uncertainly, as if trying to decide whether or not to say anything else, before he finally went on, “Look, um…Willow…I’m not trying to be any trouble or anything…and I know that…that you’re probably not supposed to…to help me, or anything…but do you have any idea how long it’s gonna be before I get something to eat?”

Willow’s mouth went dry with a nervous feeling akin to the one she got right before public speaking. She remembered Walsh telling her that they usually kept the “hostiles” hungry for at least a week following their capture, but she couldn’t bear the thought of telling Clem that…not when he was looking at her with those pleading, hopeful eyes.

“Um…I’m not sure,” she stammered, barely managing to get the words out. “I – I don’t think it’ll be much longer…”

“I’m not trying to be a bother,” Clem spoke up, an anxious, fearful sound to his voice that made Willow feel even worse. “It’s just…I’m borderline diabetic…and…and if I don’t get something to eat pretty soon, my blood sugar’s gonna drop, and…well, I think maybe it already is a little bit, and I was just hoping that maybe…maybe you could do something about that. Could you?”

“Um…I’m not sure. I could…could talk to the doctors, you know? Check and see how long it’s gonna be?” Willow offered weakly, well aware that such “help” would really not make much of a difference for the poor creature, who looked about as dangerous as a kitten.

Less dangerous, in fact.

At least kittens had claws.

“No, no…” Clem quickly objected, holding up a hand in a gesture that was almost pleading. “No, that’s okay, don’t…don’t say anything to them. I don’t want them to think I’m…I mean…” His voice lowered as he finally confessed apologetically, “I don’t get the impression that they like me very much, Willow. Any of us, really. And…and I don’t want them to be…mad, you know?”

Willow frowned, troubled by his words, and the fear that was now obvious in his eyes.

“Have they…have they hurt you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, already aware that she did not want to hear his answer.

“Um…not…not much. It’s just…they aren’t very nice. And…and the soldiers are worse, and…I just don’t want anyone to think I’m causing trouble, you know?” Clem stammered out an explanation, backing away from the cell door now, though Willow guessed he probably was not even aware he was doing it. “Just…just don’t worry about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you…”

“No, you didn’t…I mean…I’ll do what I can, okay? I’ll find out how long it’s gonna be, but I won’t tell anyone you asked me to. I’ll…I’ll see what I can do…” Willow struggled to find words that would be reassuring, without offering false promises that she knew she could not fulfill.

“Look, I’ll be fine,” Clem assured her as he sank back down to sit on the floor of the cell, leaning wearily against the wall, not looking at all like someone who was going to be “fine”. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I had some snacks with me when I came here, and they lasted a while. I just ran out last night, so…so I should be okay for a little while longer. It’s okay. Really.”

The fact that he was trying to ease her obvious distress only made Willow feel guiltier; but she was aware that there was little she could do to actually help Clem.

Suddenly, she could not stand to be there anymore, a useless watcher of his suffering. Mumbling a hasty apology, she hurriedly dismissed herself and went on her way to the lab, where Professor Walsh was likely waiting for her by now.

 

**************************************

Less than ten minutes before Willow found herself uneasily contemplating Spike’s empty cell, it had not been empty at all.

Spike was barely conscious as two soldiers entered his cell…until he caught the familiar, longed-for scent of blood. He blinked up at the men from where he huddled on the cold tile floor, confused and disoriented from his extreme state of starvation. He heard their laughter, but couldn’t make his mind process the joke that had prompted it. It did not register, not even when the soldier towering over him took out a switchblade and sliced through the bag of blood in his hand, allowing its precious contents to spill out onto the floor.

In that place of desperate starvation, Spike’s pride did not even occur to him, as he crawled weakly toward the sticky dark mess slowly spreading across the white tile.

He vamped out without realizing he had done so as he thirstily lapped up the blood from the floor. Despite the situation that would have humiliated him had he been in his right mind, the idea of allowing the blood to go to waste was unthinkable. The cruel, mocking laughter of the soldiers was a meaningless sound to him, as he licked up the nourishing fluid…pigs’ swill on the verge of turning, but sweet to his taste, after so long without anything at all.

All too quickly it was gone, and with the reviving effect of his first taste to eat in nearly a week, reality came rushing back to Spike.

He was on his hands and knees, crawling and lapping up blood for the amusement of a pair of jeering humans, laughing and taking pleasure in his degradation.

The mere taste of blood he had received was barely enough to clear his head, to give him the strength to move again -- but it awakened a rage that had been lost to despair in his hunger. The master vampire within him, the one that had once come close to ruling Sunnydale, rose up in outrage at the state to which he had been reduced.

Snarling, Spike lunged toward the soldier who had poured the blood out on the floor, fangs extended as he prepared to attack.

The chip stopped him, a fierce jolt of electric agony reminding him of the reason for his forced submission to this abasement.

“Yeah, that’s right, you little creep,” the soldier sneered. “You just stay down there where you belong. You can’t hurt us, Seventeen, remember? So just be a good little vampire…” Without warning, the soldier delivered a stunning kick to Spike’s face, knocking him backwards as he finished in a cold, hard voice, “…so we don’t have to hurt you. Okay?”

Spike’s response was a low growl deep in his throat, a sound that had brought dread to the hearts of hundreds of victims and foes over the last century.

The soldiers just laughed as they dragged him to his feet and out of the cell.

Spike did not resist, aware that doing so would only bring him further shame, as he knew that he could not fight back. He was certain that they were making good on their previous threat, to punish him if he attempted to hurt them again -- but there was nothing he could do to stop them. The best he could hope for was to hold up under whatever new form of torture they had devised for him this time.

His heart sank as he recognized the route they were taking, and realized that he was being brought to the large steel and concrete room where the horrific testing and taser-torture had taken place.

But this time, when they reached the room, the soldiers simply opened the door and thrust him inside without entering the room themselves, hurriedly locking the door behind him. Bewildered, the vampire glanced around the room, and immediately saw the reason why the soldiers had not wanted to stay.

And the fact that he was completely and thoroughly buggered.

***********************************

 

“Where are we going?” Willow asked anxiously as Walsh led her through the halls toward an area of the Initiative where she had never been before. She knew that Walsh would not do anything to harm her; she was human, not an expendable “lesser being” like the demons they dealt with here.

Still, she found herself more and more uneasy around the stern professor all the time.

“I want you to observe something…something that might make some things a bit clearer to you,” Walsh replied as she led Willow up a staircase and opened a door at the top.

Willow followed her cautiously out onto a small, glass-enclosed observation deck looking over a vast concrete room. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her, and her heart sank with a sympathy she was still trying not to feel.

On one side of the room was an enormous pile of blood bags…any starving vampire’s dream come true. In the middle of the room, pacing in agitation, were five large demons, of a breed Willow had never seen before. They walked on all fours, but still stood about four feet tall, with sharp claws extending from each of their paws, long enough to be visible even from a distance. The sound of their snarling chilled her blood.

The relatively small, confused vampire on the other side of the room made her feel even worse.

It was Spike.

*********************************

 

Even on the best of days, the Jenthrax demons across the room from him would have given Spike a terrible fight. He was not certain he would have been able to defeat them had he been at full strength, let alone now, when he was nearly starved and injured and weak. Now was not exactly a good time for him to pick a fight, he knew…not even for the enormous -- and terribly inviting -- pile of bagged blood across the room from him.

Although there was no one in the room to explain it to him, Spike knew the purpose of this particular test. Walsh and her scientists wanted to test his strength against that of the Jenthraxes. However, the test seemed to be stacked in his opponents’ favor. Walsh had to believe that there was no way Spike could possibly win against all five demons, certainly not in the physical state he was in.

*Bloody bitch’s likely right.*

Still, there was nothing for Spike to do but summon the last remaining strength of his will, and at the very least avoid the Jenthraxes’ attack for as long as possible; though he had a feeling it would not be long, especially with the chip in his head to prevent him from fighting back.

They rushed him all at once, and it was all Spike could do to avoid their vicious, needle-like teeth and long, razor-sharp claws. He struggled through the now familiar lightheaded, dizzy feeling, struggling to focus his attention on the fight, but he could not help allowing his attention to be at least partially diverted by the tempting pile on the other side of the room.

*Not like you’ll ever get that far, mate,* he reminded himself firmly. *That’s not the point of this bloody exercise. ’S just another lovely little game of ‘Kick the Spike’, in’nit?*

His grim thoughts were cut off abruptly as a Jenthrax behind him lunged forward and tore at his side with its teeth -- ripping into a taser burn that had not even begun to heal, due to Spike’s forced starvation. The hot, lancing pain shot through the vampire’s body, and he shifted automatically into his game face with an outraged roar of pain, reacting on sheer instinct and whirling around to deliver a sharp blow with his fist to the creature’s face.

The Jenthrax let out a shrill yelp of pain, falling backward to the floor momentarily before clambering up again and rushing toward him. Spike prepared himself for the attack, bracing himself as well for the expected jolt of electricity to his brain…which never came.

The chip did not go off.

Spike didn’t take time to think it through, to consider the possible explanations or consequences; there *was* no time to take. The Jenthraxes had not stopped their assault, and he knew that if he didn’t start doing more than parrying their teeth and claws, eventually they would kill him. He had struck one good blow, and the chip had not gone off.

Spike decided to take advantage of its failure for as long as it might last.

Aware that he might have only moments before either the chip started working again, or his meager strength finally gave out, Spike threw himself into the battle with every last ounce of power and skill he had. He took no pleasure in the blows he struck, aiming each with precision and efficient brutality, striking to kill -- knowing that each blow might be his last.

Therefore, each blow had to count.

In moments, the Jenthraxes lay dead and dying on the concrete floor, their blue-black blood spilling in spreading pools beneath their bodies, as Spike staggered wearily -- but purposefully -- toward the pile of blood bags across the room. He didn’t know or care if the chip’s failure was another Initiative trick.

He wanted -- *needed* -- that blood…and he intended to have it.

Throughout the fight, he had been vaguely aware of Walsh and Willow, standing on the enclosed platform above the room, watching the proceedings, but their presence had not been a factor in the life or death struggle he had been desperately waging. Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware that at any moment, Walsh could stop him from reaching his hard-earned prize with the simple press of a button.

He reached the blood in seconds, snatching up a bag and turning deliberately to face the glass enclosure, noticing with mingled relief and rage that both the commander and the little redhead were staring down at him, watching closely to see what he would do. Spike took a moment to survey Willow’s face, but could read nothing in her blank expression.

He turned his attention to Walsh, his golden eyes narrowing in fury, his chin raised in defiance as he glared up at her and raised the blood bag to his mouth, tearing into it with his fangs and drinking it down lustily, heedless of the dark red fluid that poured down his chin, his throat, dripping onto the floor in his haste to consume it as quickly as possible.

When the bag was empty, he dropped it carelessly to the floor, locking his gaze onto Walsh’s for a long moment, before throwing back his head and letting out a primal roar of triumphant defiance and rage.

**********************************

 

“There’s your friendly monster, Willow,” Walsh stated flatly, without taking her solemn eyes from the vampire beneath them. “Doesn’t appear so friendly now, does it?”

Willow shook her head automatically, simply because she was aware that it was the reaction Walsh was seeking. Some small part of her mind still felt the neurotic need to please that had been instilled in her from childhood, and tried to muster up some measure of disgust and indignation at Spike’s behavior…but behind the picture that Spike painted now, all feral power and fierce rage, another image filled her mind.

The image of a starving, pleading creature, reduced to begging her for nourishment.

And all Willow could feel in that moment was a sense of justice and satisfaction.

*Good for you, Spike. Good for you.*


	10. Chapter 10

“…and I really think I’m handling all I can at the moment, with college and studying and trying to have some semblance of a social life, and slaying, and…everything…but Giles doesn’t seem to get it. He thinks I’ve just got all this extra time to track down a bunch of boys in costumes playing with guns…and you know, not really my job description, right?”

 

 

 

Buffy paused for breath, looking to her best friend for confirmation of her stance that she was being unfairly overworked.

 

 

 

“Right,” Willow replied automatically in a flat, distracted voice.

 

 

 

“So, I just told him, ‘Why don’t you just hop the first flight back to England, you stuffy British old man,’ and he said, ‘I think I’ll just swim, it’s not that far and I could use the exercise since I’m starting to put on some extra poundage,’ and I said, ‘Well, we could have a hot, steamy Lolita-style affair and burn off some of those extra calories.’ That’s a good idea, right, Will?”

 

 

 

“Right.”

 

 

 

“Ha!” Buffy cried out triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at her friend as she stopped on the sidewalk, turning to face the bewildered redhead. “I knew it! I knew you weren’t listening to me! You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said for the last ten minutes, have you?”

 

 

 

“Yes, I so…have!” Willow insisted in a halting, indignant voice that was hardly convincing. “I heard…too much schoolwork, and…and slaying…and Giles…and… wait…” Willow’s lips twisted into a grimace of disgust as she echoed, “Lolita-style affair? Um, yeah…also, eww.”

 

 

 

“Impressive, considering your obvious distraction,” Buffy smirked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising one eyebrow as she waited for her friend to ’fess up.

 

 

 

With Willow, it never took long.

 

 

 

“Okay, okay,” she relented with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I just…just have a lot on my mind lately. What with…um…”

 

 

 

*Tell her, just tell her, keeping the secret is too hard! Just tell her you’ve been distracted because of…*

 

 

 

“…Oz…you know…leaving and stuff…he’s just…been on my mind,” Willow finally finished, not looking at her friend as she turned and started walking down the sidewalk again.

 

 

 

*Liar.*

 

 

 

Willow silently shushed the accusing voice of her conscience and tried very hard to focus on whatever it was Buffy was saying.

 

 

 

*Okay, where were we exactly…?*

 

 

 

“I’m sorry…I know it’s hard, Will…and I know I haven’t exactly been supporto gal lately. It’s just, with everything that’s been going on…”

 

 

 

*Oh, right…brief side note on Willow’s crisis just to not feel guilty, then back to Buffy and her superhero-sized problems as usual!*

 

 

 

Willow pushed that ugly thought from her mind, and then spent the next thirty seconds trying to convince herself that she had not thought it at all, before giving up the fight to soothe her conscience and returning to the original troubling debate with which her mind was currently struggling.

 

 

 

Should she or shouldn’t she let the secret out?

 

 

 

By this point she was quite sure that there was more to the Initiative and their ways than she had initially thought, and she was just as sure that the secrets the government installation held could be potentially important to the Slayer and her cause…though for better or worse, she could not tell.

 

 

 

Her mind kept insisting it was better; after all, regardless of their tactics, the Initiative was getting dozens of dangerous demons off Sunnydale’s streets and away from its innocent inhabitants. If the results were good, it didn’t really matter how they went about the thing, did it?

 

 

 

But her heart quietly argued that it *did* matter how it was done -- and some of Walsh’s methods were simply…well, awful.

 

 

 

*What would Buffy think? Would she agree with Professor Walsh? Or would she help me?* Willow wondered, once again completely oblivious as Buffy rambled on, unaware that she was being virtually ignored. *She’d probably think Walsh was wrong, judging by our conversation the other night…maybe she could help me figure out…*

 

 

 

“…so then I said, ‘So, you’re a lesbian?’ and he said…”

 

 

 

“Buffy? Can I…talk to you?”

 

 

 

Buffy stopped, frowning with concern as she turned to face her friend again. “Of course, Will. Always. What’s wrong?”

 

 

 

“Well…what if there was something…something really private, and…and secret…and you kind of had an obligation to keep it secret…a *duty*, even…”

 

 

 

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. “So far, not all that hard to picture, Wills. Secret identity and all that, remember?”

 

 

 

“Well, right,” Willow conceded. “Of course…but…what if you weren’t so sure that you *should* be keeping it a…”

 

 

 

“Hey, Buffy…Willow…wait up!”

 

 

 

Willow turned toward the sound of the familiar male voice coming from behind them, and was more than a little dismayed to see that it belonged to Riley Finn, Professor Walsh’s T.A., Buffy’s latest love interest…and Initiative commando extraordinaire.

 

 

 

She had been stunned to see Riley in the Initiative headquarters, but had decided not to mention his involvement to Buffy until she had some idea how the Slayer would react to the whole situation in general.

 

 

 

Now, with Riley standing right there, giving her a friendly grin before inevitably turning his full attention on Buffy, Willow was beginning to rethink the idea of saying anything at all.

 

 

 

What if Buffy *did* believe her and side with her? What would that do to her best friend, and her budding relationship with the teacher’s aide who still seemed far too wholesome to be involved in the sort of deep undercover operation that the Initiative had turned out to be? And if telling Buffy the truth *did* destroy her relationship with Riley…might that be a *good* thing? Was it even good for Buffy at all to allow the relationship to develop any further?

 

 

 

In the end, all Willow really knew was that she was terribly confused…far too confused to act right then, not until she was more sure of what she wanted to do.

 

 

 

With a quickly mumbled excuse that neither Buffy nor Riley really noticed, Willow left them to their tentative, sweetly awkward flirtations and shy suggestions of not-quite-date picnics and such, and headed toward Lowell House and the secret entrance to the Initiative compound. She was not really sure why she was going there…but she knew exactly where she was going.

 

 

 

************************************

 

 

 

In the cell that was Willow’s instinctive destination, Spike was recovering quite well from his prolonged bout of starvation and torture at the hands of the Initiative doctors and soldiers…a time of torment that had apparently come to an end.

 

 

 

That first hard-won bag of blood in the testing room three days earlier had been only the beginning of an abrupt but welcome change in his situation. The first indication he had received that things were different now was that no one had stopped him as he had torn through the remaining blood bags with a desperation born of his fear that, at any moment, the chance would be taken from him…and he had no idea how long it would be before he had the chance to feed again.

 

 

 

Finally, however, he had sated his tremendous, agonizing hunger, before making it through the entirety of the stack. Then, and only then, two soldiers had entered the room, stepping gingerly over the strewn, bloodied corpses of the demons he had vanquished to lead him back to his cell.

 

 

 

And rather politely, at that.

 

 

 

After his defiant display, Spike had been certain he was going to be severely punished; but the soldiers who returned him to his cell had used no violence, and very little force, only enough to ensure that he could not break free from them and try to escape. Their usual jeering taunts were replaced with silence, as they had locked the door behind him and left him to simply enjoy the first feeling of fullness and satisfaction that he had experienced in weeks.

 

 

 

Over the next few days, he was fed on a regular basis, three or four bags of blood each day, more than enough on which to survive…to thrive, even. The casual violence with which he had become accustomed from the soldiers had ceased completely, and his existing wounds were allowed the time and nourishment to heal, until he felt healthy and strong again, more than capable of taking out his weak human captors.

 

 

 

If not for the soddin’ chip in his head.

 

 

 

The knowledge that he again had the strength, the ability, the clarity of mind and body that had been stolen from him, and yet was unable to free himself from his manmade prison, was a terrible frustration to the defiant vampire; but even the frustration that made him antsy and hyper and fidgety was not enough to quell his rising good spirits.

 

 

 

In spite of his better judgment…Spike was beginning to hope again.

 

 

 

And when the little redhead appeared in the doorway to his cell, a look of pleasant surprise on her face at his improved condition, Spike thought he had discovered the reason for that hope.

 

 

 

“Well, aren’t we looking all pert and chipper with the not-starvingness and the…ooooff!”

 

 

 

Willow let out a startled, muffled cry as she was suddenly hit by a hundred and fifty pounds of healthy and energetic blond vampire, seizing her by the arms and pushing her forcefully up against the wall of his cell.

 

 

 

“Spike!” she gasped indignantly. “What…?”

 

 

 

But her protest was swiftly swallowed up by an emphatic, passionate kiss that was as intense and overwhelming as it was surprising.

 

 

 

And it was *definitely* surprising.

 

 

 

And definitely…intense…

 

 

 

Willow wanted to push him away…or wanted to *want* to push him away. She *was* pushing him away…wasn’t she? She *thought* she was pushing him away…except for the “away” part…

 

 

 

Finally gathering a shred of her composure, Willow pushed ineffectually against the alarmingly strong hands on her arms, a muffled sound of outrage leaving her covered mouth as she tried to twist her head away.

 

 

 

She *was* trying…really she was…

 

 

 

Spike drew back the moment she expressed her disapproval, releasing her arms and stepping back away from her, bouncing lightly on his heels with repressed energy and good cheer, flashing her a disarming grin that melted her outrage much more quickly than she was happy with.

 

 

 

Still, she had to make at least a token effort to express it.

 

 

 

“Okay, what was that?” she demanded indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the cheerful vampire a fiercely disapproving glare. “What makes you think you have the right to just kiss me like you’re someone that I have some kind of…kissing…relationship with? Because I so…don’t…have that kind of…relationship, or any…relationship. With you. What in the world were you thinking, Spike? I’m not some little…kissing slut that you can just…”

 

 

 

“Relax, Red,” Spike laughed, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he gave her an apologetic smile. “Just a thank you, pet.” He shrugged. “Not ’s if I’ve got a bloody lot to offer at the moment. Had to show my appreciation somehow, didn’t I?”

 

 

 

Willow frowned, distracted from her shock by his puzzling words. “Appreciation? For what?”

 

 

 

Spike shrugged again, glancing downward a bit self-consciously as he replied, “Whatever it was you did, love. Don’t know what it was, but it must have been bloody something else, to make such a difference. They’ve started feeding me again…stopped with the drugs and the tasers and…well, even the soddin’ disrespect has been down to a minimum these past few days.” Spike was quiet for a moment, glancing up at her through lowered dark lashes. “Just gotta say…thanks.”

 

 

 

Willow’s frown deepened as she wondered just what *had* brought about Spike’s sudden change of fortune…because she knew very well it had nothing to do with her.

 

 

 

“Spike,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what…what their reasons are for…changing tactics with you, but…but I didn’t…”

 

 

 

“Oh, come on, now, Red.” Spike’s soft smile became a skeptical smirk as he took a step closer to her, his eyes locking onto hers, piercing and intense. “’S just us here…no need to be coy, love…”

 

 

 

Willow instinctively took a step backward, her eyes widening as she swallowed hard, disconcerted by his sudden nearness. “No, really, Spike. I didn’t…”

 

 

 

“Willow,” Spike cut her off, shaking his head slowly in teasing reproof. “You can tell me. Knew there was a sneaky, clever little minx behind that innocent schoolgirl façade. So, how’d you pull it off?”

 

 

 

As he spoke, he edged in closer to her, not quite touching her, but standing close enough that she could feel the places where he almost did. It was confusing, and alarming…and just a little bit exciting.

 

 

 

*And…we’re back to the alarming again…*

 

 

 

“Now, you just hold up just one second, Mister!” Willow spoke as sternly as she could, holding up one hand between them in a weak attempt to place a little distance between them again. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I think you should stop…thinking it. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that broken bottle in my face! You’re still a vampire. You’d still kill me if you could, you just…can’t, because of that chip…and that’s the only thing that’s changed here. So just you don’t get any ideas…okay?”

 

 

 

The hesitation on the final word made the whole of her rambling speech a bit less than convincing.

 

 

 

Spike’s smirk widened as he shifted slightly nearer to her, his hands braced on the wall on either side of her, still not quite touching her. “’Course not, love,” he murmured, his voice low and sensual as his deceptively beautiful blue eyes focused on her lips, his own slightly parted in a tempting manner as he tilted his head slightly back, the faintest hint of a smile showing at the corners of his mouth despite his mock serious expression. “Just…let me know what…ideas…I’m not s’posed to be getting?”

 

 

 

Willow felt her heart pounding faster in her chest, her own eyes drifting downward, toward those full, perfectly formed lips, and she realized with rising alarm that the situation was swiftly slipping out of her control…

 

 

 

…and into Spike’s.

 

 

 

Suddenly, a flash of anger came over her as she realized what the vampire was doing. Her mind went back to her high school days, thinking of a dozen different boys who had done very much what Spike was doing right now -- complimented her and fawned over her and sweet-talked her in an attempt to get her to help them with their homework…or perhaps do it for them.

 

 

 

In short…to use her.

 

 

 

Summoning all of her strength, greater in that moment for her anger, Willow planted both hands against his chest and pushed him backward as hard as she could…which only set him back a step or two.

 

 

 

“I mean it!” she declared fiercely, her eyes narrowing in an expression of hot, accusing indignation. “I’m serious, Spike! You think you’ve got me figured out? I’m just the…the needy little geek who never gets the guy and is therefore vulnerable to your dastardly charms? You can just…just use me? Just sweet-talk me into doing whatever you want? Sorry to burst your bubble, Spike, but…but I’m more than just book-smart, and a…a bad attempt at seduction is *not* going to get you out of here!”

 

 

 

Without waiting for his response -- almost afraid to see it -- Willow took advantage of Spike’s startled silence to stalk past him to the door, letting herself out and storming down the hallway without looking back.

 

 

 

“Willow! Willow, wait a minute!” Spike called after her, moving to the edge of his cell, raising a hand toward it before remembering what would happen if he actually touched it, and lowering his hand again. Frustrated, he insisted, “You don’t belong here, love! This place…it’s poison to the likes of you…you’re better than this! Red…*Willow*!”

 

 

 

Willow did her best to ignore him, but as she left the holding cells and moved into the main laboratory, his haunting words echoed in her mind, resounding with a note of truth that she was finding it increasingly impossible to deny…just as it was impossible to deny the indelible impression that had been left in her mind by Spike’s surprisingly soft, cool lips, and the way they had left hers tingling in the wake of that single brief, stolen kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

As Willow disappeared through the large white door at the end of the hall, Spike sank down on the floor of his cell with a discouraged sigh, disappointed that he had failed to get through to the girl.

 

He did not stay there long.

 

His frustration and confusion and anger and simply pent up energy drove him to his feet again, pacing the floor of his cell rapidly, glaring every now and then toward the door through which the little redhead had vanished, wishing that she would come back so he could finish giving her a piece of his mind.

 

Either that…or kiss her again.

 

“What the bloody hell is wrong with me?” he muttered, shaking his head in self-directed disgust. “She’s a soddin’ *Scoobie*! One of the Slayer’s pathetic little tagalongs! Why should I want to have anything to do with her at all?”

 

And that was only the beginning of the reasons he had to hate her.

 

Not only was Willow one of Buffy’s friends, but now, she was also a member of the Initiative. Sure, she had been relatively kind to him, showing him sympathy and compassion where the other soldiers and scientists appeared to have none. And to all appearances, though she did not seem to want to admit it, she was responsible for the sudden change in his treatment at the hands of Walsh and her men.

 

Still…she was one of them.

 

The single fact that she was a member of the organization that had starved him and tortured him for over a week, and was even now holding him prisoner against his will, should have been enough to make him want to rip her throat out the first chance he got.

 

So…why didn’t he want to?

 

Perhaps it was because the sweet, mild-mannered little redhead seemed so terribly out of place in these stark, cruel surroundings. That was another troubling thought, the idea that the girl really had no idea what she was getting herself into, joining up with Walsh’s outfit. At least the Slayer only *staked* vampires, *killed* demons. She didn’t lock them up with no food or clothing while she did her best to devise as many horrific tortures to visit upon them as possible.

 

A place like this would take a good-hearted, gentle person like Willow and either change her beyond recognition…or destroy her.

 

*And why should I bloody care *what* it does to her?*

 

Spike let out a growl of frustration, slamming his fist painfully into the nearest white wall, only to immediately regret it, hissing out an angry curse as he shook his throbbing hand.

 

“If the little bint gets herself in over her head, it’s her own bloody fault, not mine!” Spike fairly snarled, the pain in his hand increasing his temper. “No concern of mine! Why should it bother me if the silly little chit gets herself hurt? It *shouldn’t* bother me! I should be *enjoying* watching all the goodness and light and kindness getting gradually sucked out of her! *Evil*, after all!”

 

But somehow, for a reason that he could not quite put his finger on, the thought of Willow’s kind, soft heart being gradually frozen and chipped away by the inhuman tactics of the Initiative was a thought that made him feel just a little bit sick inside.

 

*Not that it’s going to be a soddin’ issue at this point,* he reminded himself, feeling bitter and sullen as he resumed his frenetic pacing. *Bloody well scared her away for good!*

 

The way Willow had fled following his kiss of gratitude, all flustered confusion and violated virtue, it seemed unlikely that the girl would be paying him any more concerned visits to check on his welfare. She would likely keep her distance from this point on, avoiding giving him any future opportunity to be alone with her.

 

*Not that I *want* to be alone with her,* Spike told himself. *Why would I? That bloody kiss…didn’t mean anything. Just a gesture of thanks, nothing more. But could she take it as such? Nooooo, she just had to read all kinds of other things into it, get the wrong idea, decide I’d have to be using her to want to kiss her…when that was the farthest thing from my soddin’ mind!*

 

He paused at that thought, his frown deepening, troubled, as a new question formed in his mind.

 

*And…*why* was using her the farthest thought from his mind?*

 

It was bloody annoying that the innocent little redhead had suspected such a scheme, when in reality, the idea had never crossed his mind…though by all rights it should have. In all honesty, it wasn’t a bad idea. Willow was a pretty enough girl, quite attractive in her own way, but she was in no way aware of that fact…and that made her vulnerable.

 

*Why didn’t I think of that?* Spike wondered with irritation. *Playing up to her emotions…working her for my own benefit…that’s what I should have been doing all along! It’s no wonder she thought that; it would have made more sense than kissing her for real…out of bloody *gratitude*! What kind of evil master vampire am I turning into, anyway?*

 

“It’s this place,” he muttered aloud, shaking his head as he sank down against the wall, falling into a crouch, staring suspiciously in the direction of the door. “It’s this bloody cell…locked up like an animal…does things to your head…that’s all it is…bloody mind games…”

 

Spike suddenly realized that since Willow had shown up in his cell shortly after his capture, his beloved Drusilla…his sire, the one who had made him what he was and had consumed his every thought for the last century…had not crossed his mind, not even once.

 

*It’s the drugs…the hunger…it’s this place…* he mentally insisted, swallowing back a cold sensation of uncertainty that settled in the pit of his stomach with that thought. *That’s all it is. I’m getting stronger…able to think more clearly…if I can just find a way to get the bloody hell out of here…it’ll all be all right…it’s just…just being here…just this place…that’s making me feel this way…*

 

At least partially satisfied with his explanation that it was his forced captivity in the Initiative labs, and not in any way the adorable little redhead who worked there, that was responsible for his strange emotions and thoughts of late, Spike settled down to try to sleep, and did his best to put Willow Rosenberg and all things related to her out of his mind, a brief mantra echoing over and over in his mind as he tried to convince himself that it was true.

 

*It meant nothing…it meant nothing…*

 

***************************************

 

*It didn’t happen…it didn’t happen…*

 

As many times as Willow told herself that in the hours that followed the strange encounter with the even stranger vampire…she could not quite bring herself to believe it, no matter how badly she wanted to do so.

 

*I had to have imagined it…Spike would never…would never actually *kiss* me…except…except for the part where he did…*

 

Willow choked back a little whimper of uncertainty as she went about the simple data entry task she had been given on entering the main lab. It was simply reading and typing…a mindless task that, unfortunately, allowed her brain too much room for other thoughts to crowd in.

 

*But…but he was just trying to take advantage of me…thinks I’m all weak and vulnerable, like now I’m gonna be all willing to do whatever he wants, to help him escape or whatever, just because he kissed me! And I’m so…not! Just because he happens to be…reasonably good at…at kissing, and his…his lips are so…so soft and…and…*

 

“Stop it,” she muttered aloud, sharply reprimanding herself for the direction her thoughts seemed to be taking, and mentally scanning her mind for another topic to focus on until she found one.

 

Strangely, the new subject was not far from the old one.

 

Willow found herself wondering apprehensively about the suspiciously good condition in which she had found Spike when she had entered his cell. His many bruises and electric burns, which had caused her such distress in spite of herself, had completely healed; and the blond vampire no longer appeared weak and malnourished and barely able to move.

 

Quite the opposite, actually.

 

Willow’s mind went back to the fury she had seen on Walsh’s face following that last test she had performed on Spike, and how badly the professor seemed to think it went. She had been certain at the time that Spike was going to suffer terribly as a consequence for failing to produce the results Walsh had been looking for…even if those results had apparently been his own death.

 

But Walsh’s response to Spike’s performance seemed to be the farthest thing from the violent punishment Willow had expected, and she wasn’t sure whether she should feel relieved or fearful.

 

Walsh had told her that the first week, at least, of a hostile’s captivity was always designed to be as harsh and painful as possible, in order to enforce their relative status, their low position beneath that of their human captors. Willow had not thought that Walsh’s reason in any way justified the cruelty she had witnessed, but it had at least made a sort of cold, clinical sense.

 

Was it possible that, now that Spike had been so thoroughly shattered by the abuse he had endured, the cruelty would come to an end? Did Walsh believe that she had broken the vampire sufficiently at this point, and could now treat him in a more humane fashion without risking his rebellion?

 

*If she does,* Willow thought darkly, *she doesn’t know Spike.*

 

Still, that explanation was the most appealing to her, the one that would make sleep come most easily to her that night…but it just did not ring true.

 

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Willow rose from her seat, swiftly organizing the papers she had been working with into a neat stack and logging off the computer she was using, taking a deep breath in preparation for the necessary confrontation, which would either put her mind at ease or intensify her fears.

 

She had a sinking feeling that it would be the latter…but she simply had to know.

 

Steeling herself for the conversation, Willow made her way to Walsh’s office.

 

*************************************

 

“I just…you know…I want to understand…as much as I can, about…about how things work around here, and what the proper procedures are, and…and everything…and I just had…some questions,” Willow found herself stammering, and she had not even reached the difficult part yet.

 

“Of course, Willow.” Walsh smiled at her, nodding her approval. “You are always welcome here, my dear. I appreciate your…your thirst for knowledge, and I am more than happy to answer any questions you might have.”

 

Well, *that* definitely sounded too easy.

 

*Probably is.*

 

“Well…I was just wondering…you know…Hostile 17?” Willow began tentatively.

 

Walsh’s smile faltered a bit, but she nodded calmly. “Yes. What would you like to know?”

 

“Well…I remember the last test I was present for…the one with the demons, and the…the blood…and I remember…he seemed awfully…defiant, at the end of that test. And you said…you said that we deprive them of food and treat them harshly when they first come here, in order to…to make them understand who’s in control, right?”

 

Walsh nodded. “Right.”

 

“So…I was just coming through the cells, and I saw that…well, Hostile 17…he’s…”

 

Walsh cleared her throat sharply.

 

“*It’s*…it’s…looking very strong and healthy and…well, I was just wondering why,” Willow finally blurted out her question. “I mean…if he’s not…not properly conditioned yet…why…?”

 

Her voice trailed off, and she suddenly felt very uncomfortable under the older woman’s calm but piercing scrutiny. She steeled herself for the inevitable severe reprimand…but it never came.

 

Walsh simply answered her question…but the answer blew her away.

 

“I need that particular hostile strong and healthy…for the next set of tests.” The slightest hint of a cold smile began again at the edges of her mouth, as she added, “They’re going to be…particularly rigorous…and I need to ensure that the hostile will last as long as possible.”

 

Willow felt a chill go through her at those words, and a dark sense of dread in her heart at the thought of what Spike’s apparent good fortune was leading up to.

 

“Oh. What…what kind of tests?” she asked, careful to keep her voice casual, despite the pounding of her heart in her chest and the constricted, breathless feeling she was fighting.

 

Walsh was quiet for a moment, studying Willow’s expression, before she spoke softly.

 

“Willow, the Initiative exists for a variety of reasons, but it’s possible that none of those reasons are nearly as important as the experiments I’m about to commence with Hostile 17.” She paused, allowing the girl to take in her words before continuing, “We have developed some rather effective techniques for capturing, containing, and destroying the otherworldly menace in this town…but we still are in need of better methods.”

 

Willow glanced around the rather high-tech, impressive office, her eyes trailing toward the door, aware of the expensive, versatile lab that lay just outside it. “Seems to me like we’re pretty…um…advanced…”

 

“We are,” Walsh agreed with a smile of pride at the compliment…but the smile quickly faded, her expression becoming serious, as she amended, “when it comes to dealing with single hostiles, or very small groups of hostiles. What I’m talking about, Willow, is something a bit more…large scale. I’m talking about developing a method of destroying not only two or three hostiles at a time…but entire nests…perhaps eventually the entire hostile population of say, a neighborhood. A town, even.”

 

Willow’s eyes widened as she processed that, impressed by Walsh’s suggestion, even as she was troubled by it. “But…but what could do…?”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Walsh cut her off mildly. “My men are very skilled in hand to hand combat with hostiles…but still, every now and then we suffer losses. To me, that is simply unacceptable. What I’m seeking to do is to develop a means whereby the hostiles might be destroyed, without my men ever having to come into contact with them.”

 

Willow felt her stomach drop, as the pieces began to come together for her. “You mean…like some kind of…vampire poison?”

 

“Precisely,” Walsh replied with a nod. “Something that would have no effect on humans, but would be fatal to vampires. Something the military could secretly drop over an entire city…and the innocent human population would never even know, but the vampires and demons in the city would be destroyed. You see what I’m talking about, Willow?”

 

Willow nodded slowly, unable to voice the term that came to her mind…a term that made her feel sick to her stomach with its various dark implications.

 

Walsh was talking about chemical weapons.

 

And she was talking about testing them…on Spike.


	12. Chapter 12

Willow managed to stay calm throughout the rest of Walsh’s explanation of her plans, though hearing about the sorts of chemicals she intended to test on the unsuspecting vampire chilled Willow’s blood. Once Walsh had finished explaining her plan to Willow, the girl mumbled an excuse that she hoped sounded plausible, thanked the professor for her time, and headed out the door as quickly as she could escape.

She walked a few steps down the hall outside Walsh’s office, glancing anxiously around, as if afraid that her traitorous thoughts would somehow betray themselves to the soldiers and scientists milling around about her. As she walked, her pace gradually quickened, until she reached an empty hall and took the opportunity to break into a run.

She was heading for the holding cells, where Spike was being kept.

She wasn’t even sure why it bothered her so much. After all, Spike had tried to kill her on more than one occasion. He was a vampire, evil, like Walsh and Buffy and everyone else said, and therefore, shouldn’t he be fair game? If there was ever an acceptable candidate for the type of testing Walsh intended…wouldn’t Spike be it?

Although, rationally, that argument made sense, Willow could not reconcile it with the dread she felt in her heart. She rushed down the hallway, breathless as she made her way to the cell where the blond vampire was kept, knowing not why, but only that she had to warn him somehow, had to let him know what was going to happen to him.

The thought of helping him somehow, finding a way to prevent it from happening at all, was still only a faint fragmented concept on the edges of her mind, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit. She was the best friend of the vampire *Slayer*. How could she justify releasing one back out into the public?

*Except…he can’t hurt anyone now…he has that chip…*

She cut off that thought abruptly, afraid to follow where it might lead, in spite of her concern for the blond vampire. She had reached his cell, and she slowed her steps to a walk, trying to catch her breath as she approached the invisible wall and the mechanism that would open it.

Her eyes widened at the sight of Spike lying on the floor of his cell, still and silent. Her heart leapt up into her throat, a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

*Surely they haven’t started already…no…not yet…*

“Spike?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and uncertain.

She felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he raised his head groggily, looking up at her through blank blue eyes, a curiously broad smile on his face. He stared at her for a long moment, a dull, uncomprehending expression in his eyes, before he seemed to finally recognize her.

Then, the smile became a great, beaming grin.

“Red,” he slurred in a voice of great affection, bracing one hand on the floor in an attempt to rise. “Hello, Red…Willow…Red Willow…that’s a kind of a tree, you know…”

A failed attempt.

It took the usually agile vampire several tries to manage to pull himself to his feet, and even then he staggered and stumbled as he made his way awkwardly toward the wall, a silly grin pasted on his face as he approached her.

Willow stared at him, a frown of confusion on her face. Spike did not seem to be hurt at all. He *was* acting very strangely, but he did not seem to be in any pain or discomfort. In fact, he seemed happier than she had seen him since he had been here, as if he was completely unaware that he was a prisoner here, being held against his will for the sake of human experimentation. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more he seemed…almost…

“Spike…” she said slowly, raising one eyebrow as he reached to touch the invisible wall between them with both hands, as if eager to get as close to her as possible, and giggled -- *giggled*! -- when the light electric shock sent him stumbling a few steps backward.

“…are you…are you *drunk*? *Again*?”

Spike let out another manic laugh, shaking his head at her as if what she had said was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “No, love,” he replied, his voice still slurred and breaking comically. “Not drunk…not…not quite sure what the bloody hell I am right now, or…or what the hell I’m *on*…”

Willow’s concerned frown deepened as the vampire approached the wall again, his bloodshot, dilated eyes struggling to focus on the invisible, as he reached out one finger slowly, experimentally, toward it, utterly fascinated. As he leaned unconsciously closer and closer to it, his eyes gradually began to cross.

“Spike!” she pressed him, her voice coming out more sharply than she had intended, and trembling a bit with fear for him.

The vampire jumped slightly, distracted from the invisible wall by the sound of her voice. He raised his eyes slowly to hers, an expression of surprise on his face as though seeing her for the first time, fading into another brilliant smile, as if nothing else he could have seen would have made him happier.

It set a funny little fluttering in Willow’s stomach, a feeling of mingled satisfaction and warmth, and guilt, because she knew that she had not done anything even resembling what he thought she had done.

“Spike,” she said firmly, trying to hold his attention long enough to get a coherent answer from him. “What happened?”

Spike blinked at her once or twice before finally appearing to process what she had said.

“Oh,” he replied, waving his hand with a *pfft* sort of sound of dismissal that carried a great deal more saliva than it would have ordinarily. “That. Not quite sure what they’re up to. A coupla the soldier boys came in here, all official like…wasn’t quite sure what they wanted at first, yeah? So, of course, I’m not goin’ easy. But they hold me down, and their mate comes along with a needle and shoots me full of…something. Don’t rightly know what, love…”

His grin widened mischievously, and he let out another rather un-demonic giggle as he finished, “…but I’m sure feelin’ nice, whatever the bloody hell it is!”

Willow’s mind was racing as she tried to fathom what Walsh was up to. It seemed that she had had Spike injected with some kind of social drug, rather than the deadly chemical poisons she had described in her office a few minutes earlier.

*Maybe she’s starting off slow and building up to the big guns.*

That thought sent a shudder down Willow’s spine, and she struggled to focus on Spike again, pushing the horrifying mental images out of her mind.

“That must have been quite a dose,” she mused thoughtfully.

“Three.”

“What?” She shook her head slightly in confusion.

“Three doses,” Spike clarified, his voice slurred. “Three times they came in and gave me three doses.” In a loud voice, just slightly off key, he abruptly began to sing, “Three blind mice, see how they run…”

“Spike…”

“They all ran after the farmer’s wife, she cut off their nobs with a…”

“*Spike*!”

“Yeah?“

The intoxicated vampire looked up at her, momentarily startled before a grin that was both lazy and adoring at the same time lit up his face, his blue eyes sparkling with good humor and affection.

It was heartbreaking.

“Spike…listen to me…you have to listen and understand this…”

As Willow spoke, she noticed with dismay the way the vampire’s expression slowly softened, his eyes growing sad and solemn as he turned to face her fully, an imploring expression on his face.

“…listen, Spike, these drugs…they’re not just to make you feel good…they’re not going to stop here, they’re going to…”

“I’m so bloody sorry, Red.”

Willow stopped, stunned to silence by the unexpected announcement. “Wh-what?”

Spike edged cautiously closer to the wall, for once appearing to take into account its painful capabilities. His steps were unsteady, and he weaved a bit as he made his way to stand facing her, only the electric field separating them from each other. His crystal blue eyes locked onto hers, mesmerizing her with the depth of emotion she saw there, in spite of his somewhat altered state.

He was swaying slightly, but his voice was low and subdued as he tucked his head slightly and explained, “Scared you. Before. Didn’t mean to. Sorry, love.”

Willow felt the strange affection she was beginning to experience for him, as well as her guilt, both intensify with those words. Her eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head as she instinctively reached a hand toward the vampire, stopping just short of the wall.

“Spike,” she whispered hoarsely. “Spike, that doesn’t matter now…you have to listen to…”

She suddenly stopped, looking apprehensively down the hall as she heard the door at the end slide open with a hissing sound. Two soldiers stepped into the hall, talking as they made their way toward Spike’s cell. They stopped as they reached her, looking surprised to see her there.

Willow froze, terrified to be caught, knowing only that she had to come up with an explanation, and she had to come up with it fast. Her mouth began to work almost before her mind could compose an explanation, simply hoping that whatever came out made some kind of sense. “H-hi. I-I’m supposed to be taking…um…samples. Yeah, I’m supposed to be taking samples from this h-hostile, so…”

“That’s weird.” One of the soldiers frowned. “We’re supposed to be transporting this hostile to one of the cells in the lab for the next round of tests.”

“Right,” Willow hurried to agree, pretending to know exactly what they were talking about, as well as what she was doing there. “And…that’s why I’m here. I’m supposed to…to go along. To…observe. During…the tests. I’m supposed to…to observe and take notes and report back to her and…and she said for me to meet you guys here. Didn’t Commander Walsh tell you?”

She glanced anxiously at Spike out of the corner of her eye, and saw to her dismay that he seemed utterly clueless about the whole affair. He was just staring at her, eyes wide and fascinated, focused on her lips as she spoke.

The second soldier scoffed good-naturedly, “No…but that means nothing! Like she ever tells us anything!”

His friend laughed, too, and Willow joined them nervously, painfully aware of the high, nearly hysterical sound of her own laughter in comparison with the easy, comfortable sound of theirs. As the soldiers opened the door to Spike’s cell and strode inside, the vampire joined their laughter with that high, silly giggle that made Willow want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Spike had no idea what was about to happen to him.

“Yeah, laugh, buddy,” one of the soldiers sneered. “Laugh while you can.”

“Laugh while you can,” Spike echoed a bit dreamily, his words slowing and his eyes becoming hazy. “Laugh while you can…kinda sounds like a song…”

He didn’t seem to notice the soldiers’ mocking laughter as he apparently set about trying to write said song, mumbling random rhyming words in an off-key parody of music. Willow followed along as the two soldiers supported the off-balance vampire and led him back toward the lab, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty, desperately wishing that she knew of a way to stop what was about to happen to Spike.

When they stopped at the door to the lab, and the soldiers momentarily released Spike to locate their key cards, a sharp twinge of mild pain in her backside drew Willow’s attention abruptly from her thoughts, and she looked up quickly at the soldiers and vampire beside her. The vampire gave her a mischievous wink, and her eyes widened as she realized that what she had felt was his fingers, giving her rear a friendly pinch.

*Well, whatever it is they gave him, it didn’t hurt his coordination in *that* area!* she thought with mild annoyance…alarmed to find that even her annoyance with him was tinged with a sad feeling of affection, and fear.

In spite of her growing sympathy for him, she cast a stern, disapproving look in Spike’s direction -- but the inebriated vampire had retained enough of his senses to innocently avoid her gaze.

Still, when the soldiers stopped outside an empty cell in the main laboratory, Spike found the opportunity to repeat the playful gesture, pinching her bottom again. Willow barely managed to stifle a startled little squeal, and this time she caught Spike’s eye when she shot him a warning glare.

“What?” he asked in a low voice barely over a whisper, leaning closer to her as the soldiers made a brief inspection of the cell, though Willow could not tell whether he was doing it deliberately, or simply off balance from the drugs. “Said I was sorry…never said I was a gentleman.”

“You know,” Willow retorted in an indignant hiss, “I think I liked you better falling down drunk, right after Drusilla dumped you!”

Before Spike could make any response -- if he even understood what she had said at all at the moment -- the soldiers had returned to take his arms on either side and lead him none too gently into the cell. Willow waited outside the cell uncertainly, her mind racing as she tried to think of some way to get rid of the soldiers so that she could at least give the vampire some warning.

Not that she was at all sure that anything she said right now would actually be remembered by him later.

“I’ll just be a little while, guys,” she told the soldiers, surprised and pleased at the fact that she actually sounded calm and certain for a change. “I don’t have to actually touch him or anything, so I think I can handle it from here.”

“Sure, Miss Rosenberg.”

The soldiers readily accepted her words and left her alone in the hall -- alone with Spike.

*This is getting easier every time,* Willow realized, and immediately wondered whether this sort of deception was something she really *wanted* to get good at.

She put the question out of her mind, reminding herself that she had much more important things to worry about at the moment. Glancing up and down the hallway to be sure that no one was around to observe her actions, she used her own pass card to open the door the soldiers had just locked, and stepped into Spike’s cell.

“Spike,” she said firmly, determined to make him hear her warning this time. “You have to listen to me…”

Her voice suddenly trailed off as she took in the vampire’s drastically altered demeanor. He was sitting against the wall of the cell on the floor, his knees drawn up in front of him, his arms crossed on his knees, his face resting in his arms.

She hesitated, before yielding to her own sense of compassion and crossing the cell to sit down beside him, her own position mirroring his.

“Spike?” she asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”

He did not answer for a long moment, did not even acknowledge her words, until Willow found herself wondering if he had heard her at all…if he was even still conscious. Finally, however, Spike raised his head from the pillow of his arms, turning desolate, tearful blue eyes toward her.

Apparently, the effects of the drugs were shifting, bringing forth a melancholy mood in place of his overwhelming good cheer of only minutes before. But when Spike finally spoke, Willow wondered if perhaps it was more than just the drugs bringing about his emotional reaction.

“I haven’t even thought about her. Not since I’ve been here…least, not like I used to.”

Willow’s brow crinkled in a puzzled frown for a moment, before understanding dawned on her. “Dru?” she clarified softly.

Spike nodded, his head lowered despondently for a moment. “Hasn’t hardly crossed my mind.” He suddenly looked up at her sharply again, asking almost pleadingly, “Does that make me a bad lover? I spent over a century with her…shouldn’t she be on my mind every bleedin’ second of every bleedin’ day? Am I a bad, selfish man for…for forgettin’ about her like that?”

Willow considered for a moment, hesitating to offer the sympathy that seemed to be coming so naturally to her. After all, this was *Spike*; why did she feel so sorry for him? Why did she care so much about the heartbreak that was evident in his searching blue eyes as he gazed up at her, awaiting the answer to his question?

“No, Spike,” she reassured him gently. “You’re not a bad…well, you *are* a bad *man*,” she amended, reconsidering, as images of Spike’s various attempts to kill her and her friends filled her mind. “But…but you’re not a bad *lover*. You were faithful to her for over one hundred years, Spike! *She* left *you*, remember? You’re not doing anything wrong by not being constantly consumed with thoughts of the girl who cheated on you and dumped you!”

Spike’s expression softened with gratitude at her words, his eyes welling with tears. “Thank you,” he said softly. They were both silent for a long moment, before Spike went on quietly, with a sort of sad, wistful calm, “I *have* thought about her, a little. Every now and then…and…it’s mostly the same two thoughts.”

Willow looked at him expectantly, simply waiting for him to go on.

“How…how bloody grateful I am that she’s not here…that they didn’t catch her, too, so they could bring her here and run their soddin’ tests and cut her up and torture her and all, trying to find the source of her…her magic…” He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “Like they could ever even *begin* to understand her…”

“She’s *not* here, Spike,” Willow reminded him gently. “She’s safe.”

“And…and I’m glad she is,” Spike assured her. “I really am. It’s just…sometimes…there’s this part of me that just can’t help but think…if she ever *really* loved me…she’d have come for me, yeah? She wouldn’t just…just leave me here. But…she *doesn’t* love me. She would never…never risk herself like that, you know? Not for me.”

Willow felt a slow ache building in her chest at Spike’s heartbreaking words, spoken in a soft voice of painful acceptance. She opened her mouth to offer what words of comfort she could, but before she could, Spike shook his head with a self-deprecating grimace and continued.

“Not that I want her to, love. I mean…I really don’t want her coming here, getting caught and hurt and all…it’s just…it’d be nice to think that…that she would.”

Willow was not sure what to say, so she simply said the only honest words that came to mind.

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

He shook his head again, waving a dismissive hand in an exaggerated gesture that reminded her of his drugged state. He had been strangely coherent for the past few minutes, but she noticed then that his reactions still seemed a bit off. He looked up at her again, drawing her attention with a quiet question.

“If it was you…if you were in trouble…the wolf…he’d come for you, yeah?”

Willow was a bit taken off guard by the question, but there was no doubt in her mind as to the answer.

“Always.”

Spike was quiet for a moment before remarking softly, “I’m sorry. That you lost someone…someone who loved you like that. I’ve never…never lost anyone, like that.”

The unspoken words behind his quiet comment broke Willow’s heart with the knowledge that Spike had never *had* anyone to love him like that. He was truly alone here, among enemies intent on using and abusing him until he was literally all used up -- and no one was coming for him, or ever would be.

There were no words of comfort to offer him, nothing that could make it better…so Willow did the only thing she knew to do. She slowly reached out a hand, extending it to fold gently around his.

Spike looked up at her, startled, then back down at their joined hands between them. A slight squeeze of grateful acceptance was his only response, as his eyes refocused on the floor at his feet, and the two of them sat there in a silent exchange of comfort too sincere, and pain too deep, to be expressed in words.

TBC....


	13. Chapter 13

They sat in silence on the floor of the cell for a long time, each taking comfort from the simple affectionate touch of the other…both trying hard not to think about the implications of that simple touch, his hand clasped in hers…trying hard not to think about anything but the much-needed reassurance it provided.

 

All too soon, reality began to close in again.

 

Spike abruptly pulled his hand away from her, his eyes downcast as he turned slightly away, and Willow realized all at once that he was trying to hide his tears from her. His emotions were still very precarious at the moment, most likely due to whatever drugs the Initiative scientists had pumped into his system. His sudden shift from giddy, careless happiness to grief and tears was more than a little alarming.

 

It was probably the drugs in his system that made him forget…she had already seen his tears.

 

“Hey,” she murmured, turning toward him and reaching out a hesitant hand. “Spike…look at me…”

 

He did not respond, staying turned away, a tell-tale sniffing giving away the tears he was trying so hard to conceal. Willow shifted slightly closer to him, her trembling fingers reaching cautiously toward his face, as she forcefully put out of her mind the remembered images of that face twisted into its demonic visage, deadly fangs menacing her.

 

The vampire sitting beside her now was entirely different from the one who had threatened to take her life.

 

“Spike?” she repeated, uncertain, suddenly wondering if he was even still aware that she was there.

 

He was sitting perfectly still, his head turned away from her and leaning against the wall, and he had fallen completely silent. She wondered for a moment if he was even still conscious at all.

 

*He won’t hurt me…he needs…he needs…comfort…*

 

Still, her fingers moved more and more slowly as she reached toward him.

 

Just before she actually touched him, a familiar whooshing sound from outside the cell drew her attention in alarm, as she realized that the outer door to the containment area was about to open. Willow scrambled to her feet hastily, rushing toward the cell door and stepping out into the hallway, fumbling with her passcard to lock it behind her, and turning her back on the cell door…just as Maggie Walsh stepped into the hallway.

 

“Willow.” A puzzled frown creased the professor’s brow, as she walked calmly toward the nervous redhead. “What are you doing here?”

 

There was no accusation in her tone, just simple curiosity.

 

Willow chose to feel threatened, nonetheless.

 

“I…I just was…wondering…if maybe you might need some…some additional samples, from Hostile 17…so, I was just going to…to get some…in case you needed them. But, then…I remembered, I’ve taken plenty of samples,” Willow stammered, shaking her head with a nervous laugh and a little shrug. “All back in my work station…which…I should be getting to. To – to analyze the samples. So…I’ll just do that. Now.”

 

The last word came out in a little squeak, and she swallowed hard and gave the professor a bright – and hopefully innocent – smile, as she slipped past her and toward the exit doors. She felt a sick sensation of guilt and fear in the pit of her stomach, for leaving Spike alone and at Walsh’s mercy, but she knew deep down that she was doing the right thing by leaving.

 

She had never had much of a poker face.

 

Five minutes with Walsh right now, and the professor of psychology would know beyond all doubt that Willow was hiding something from her.

 

The safest thing she could do for both of them at the moment was to simply get as far away from Walsh as possible.

 

*Yeah, that’s it, Willow. Rationalize away your cowardice.*

 

Feeling confused and disgusted with her own fear, and not at all sure that she was doing the right thing, Willow made her way purposefully down the hallway and toward her own workstation.

 

***********************************

 

Walsh frowned at the retreating form of her new prize scientist, wondering at Willow’s awkward behavior, her nervous manner.

 

The girl was clearly hiding something.

 

“Red?”

 

Walsh turned back toward Hostile 17’s cell in surprise, taking in the sight of the vampire, seated on the floor, looking a bit dazed as he glanced around the room, and finally toward the door, as if just coming out of a sort of daze and finding himself a bit disoriented.

 

*Red? As in…redhead? Willow?*

 

Walsh’s mind raced with the troubling implications of that, but she purposefully put it out of her mind for the moment. There would be plenty of time later to observe the girl, to talk to her, to try to find out what was behind her strange connection with the blond vampire.

 

At the moment – she had other concerns.

 

Her expression hardened as she strode confidently up to the door of the cage, but her eyes sparkled with vindictive mirth.

 

“Hostile 17,” she addressed him coolly. “Stand.”

 

The vampire stared up at her blankly for a few moments, as if struggling to register her words through the drug-induced haze that fogged his mind. Then, a slow, mocking smirk rose to his lips as he staggered to his feet, stumbling toward the door, off-balance and weaving drunkenly. He came to a stop a few inches from the invisible barrier, looking her up and down derisively before letting out a contemptuous snort of laughter.

 

Walsh’s eyes flashed with anger, but her expression did not change. “Something amusing, Hostile?”

 

“No, not really,” he replied, his voice slurred slightly as his eyes met hers in a defiant challenge. “Just wondering if it’d help…but it didn’t…”

 

Walsh’s brow creased in just the barest beginning of an irritated frown. “What didn’t help?”

 

Spike gave her an infuriating smirk, his eyes dancing with mocking laughter as he replied, “Being completely soddin’ wasted. Usually it helps…but you’re still the ugliest old crone I’ve ever seen!”

 

Walsh felt a surge of anger at the vampire’s insults, but she had years of experience in masking her emotions. And besides…she knew that for all the vampire’s talk, she was the one who held the upper hand in this situation.

 

As Spike obliviously struggled to refocus his eyesight, which seemed to go a bit blurry every few seconds, he completely missed the slow, sadistic smile that spread across her face, and the cruel satisfaction glittering in her eyes.

 

**********************************

 

“There’s nothing I could have done right now, anyway! What am I supposed to do to stop her? If I let her know that it bothers me, she’ll just have *me* locked up…or worse…or…”

 

Willow muttered under her breath as she paced frenetically behind her workstation, grateful that for once the area seemed to be mostly deserted, and there was no one around to notice her rather vocal attempt at justifying leaving Spike alone with Walsh. But despite her best efforts, she could not seem to silence the tiny, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

 

*He’s helpless…can’t fight back…all alone with that…that *monster*…*

 

Willow paused in her pacing, frowning thoughtfully.

 

*And why do I care so much all of a sudden? Spike is a *vampire*! A deadly, evil vampire who would kill me if he had the chance…*

 

Her frown deepened and she sighed, shaking her head.

 

*…except for the part where I *really* think he wouldn’t…*

 

She resumed her pacing, all her worries coming down to a single thought echoing again and again in her mind.

 

*Oh, God…oh, God…what is she going to *do* to him?*

 

*********************************

 

Spike awakened abruptly, struggling to remember what had happened…but everything seemed distant, hazy, unclear.

 

Through the fog, a frightening memory of a sharp, stabbing pain came to him, and he tried to grasp onto it, to remember what had happened to him, before it receded just as suddenly into the back of his muddled mind.

 

As his vision cleared, he raised his head with an effort, squinting against the white light that seemed to fill the room. When his eyes finally adjusted, he tried to rise, only to realize that he could not. Glancing down in alarm, he saw that he was once again strapped down to a surgical gurney, his arms and legs, wrists and ankles bound tightly with strong leather straps.

 

Not that he would have been strong enough to break them at this point, even if they had been weaker.

 

Suddenly, he heard *her* voice – the voice of the sadistic bitch dictator who ran this hellish place – and was suddenly acutely aware of his constant state of nakedness, an uncomfortable fact to which he had almost become accustomed at this point. He renewed his weak struggles against the unyielding bonds, attempting to voice his protest…and finding that that was impossible as well, due to what felt like a thick piece of rubber that filled his mouth.

 

So, he was gagged, too…which didn’t seem right. He had not tamed his tongue since his capture, and yet they had not taken his freedom of speech before, except for that one time, the time that had resulted in his utter helplessness at their hands – the time when they had implanted the chip in his head, performing brain surgery on him without even the benefit of anesthetic.

 

His eyes widened with fearful understanding, as he realized that there was only one instance in which these people would care to gag him.

 

To stifle his screams.

 

*Oh…bloody hell…*

 

For her part, Walsh was ignoring his attempts at sound and movement, speaking quietly. Spike looked up to see who she was speaking to, and noticed for the first time the half-dozen or so lab techs surrounding the gurney. As they looked on impassively, Walsh spoke in an even, instructional tone, sounding for once like the college professor she made herself out to be.

 

“We have discovered that vampires are affected by many of the same mind- and mood-altering substances that affect human beings – temporarily,” she informed them. “Whereas alcohol or narcotics might cause a temporary state similar to what we would call intoxication, they do not appear to have any lasting effects on vampires, while we all know that in humans, they can cause permanent damage. For example, a vampire can’t die of an overdose, or develop lung cancer from cigarettes.”

 

Spike felt terribly vulnerable and exposed under the scrutinizing eyes of the young lab techs, studying him with cold interest, but clearly no compassion for his situation. To make matters worse, whatever drug they had given him earlier had not completely worn off, leaving him struggling to remain alert and conscious, to hear what she was telling her students – which seemed incredibly important at the moment.

 

“…don’t know if there is actually any noticeable effect on a vampire’s internal organs and tissues, however…and that is what we are here to discover today.”

 

Spike froze momentarily, the impact of what she was saying filling him with horror. Then, he renewed his struggles desperately, however useless they were. Useless – and in fact, counter-productive. The more he fought, the more the drug in his system seemed to move through his bloodstream, making his vision fade away and his head swim.

 

“I will instruct you on the procedure as we proceed, and help when necessary,” Walsh continued, her back turned to him, and Spike struggled to focus enough to make out her form, rather than just the blurred blob that she had become in his weary eyes.

 

Just as he managed to summon the last of his strength to bring her into focus, she turned around to face him with a chilling smile, a scalpel in her hand glistening in the bright white light, and her coolly pleasant words were the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness completely.

 

“Shall we begin?”

 

**************************************

 

Willow sat at her workstation, trembling with fear, her mind racing with confusion, as she tried to decide what she should do.

 

Her conscience had long since gotten the better of her, determining that, regardless of the risk, she could not simply leave Spike at the mercy of the cruel scientist who was using him as nothing more than an experiment. Even if it cost her her position here – a position she was no longer all that sure she wanted – she had to help Spike.

 

The question was – what could she do?

 

*Nothing,* she realized, swallowing back the sick feeling in her throat. *A whole lot of nothing…on my own, anyway.*

 

She glanced up uncertainly at the clock and saw that it was quite late. She had lingered at her station for hours without realizing it, first pacing, then simply sitting at her desk, lost in her own troubled thoughts. She swallowed hard as she realized that if she was going to do anything to help Spike, she was going to have to let her own secret out and enlist the help of her friends – specifically the Slayer.

 

A government monster-hunting group was something the Slayer should know about anyway…right?

 

She grimaced as she read the time – 12:30 am.

 

Buffy would certainly be either out patrolling or asleep by now.

 

Making a quick decision, before she had time to think herself out of it, Willow snatched up the phone and dialed the number to the dorm room she shared with the Slayer, not sure whether to hope that someone would answer, or that no one would. She decided firmly that if Buffy *did* answer, she was not going to hesitate; she was going to tell her everything, no matter how hard it was. She had to get this out in the open, had to get help, had to…

 

Finally, she heard a click on the other end of the line, the sound of the phone being picked up, and before Buffy could even speak, she hurriedly opened her mouth to form rushed words, wanting to spill out the secret before she could lose her nerve.

 

“Buffy?” she said. “I really need you to listen to me…”

 

But she suddenly stopped, her eyes going wide with alarm as she raised her hand to her throat and tried again…with the same result as before.

 

She was speaking, but no sound was coming out. Again and again she tried, but with no success.

 

Her voice – and apparently Buffy’s as well, judging from the utter silence on the other end of the phone – was completely gone.

 

*********************************

 

With a terrified gasp, Spike broke the bonds that held him and sat up with a start – only to cringe as he drew in a hiss of breath at the pain the motion cost him. He blinked against the return of the bright light, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and finding that he had not actually been bound at all, but was rather lying on the floor, back in his own cell.

 

He was shaking violently, his breath coming in harsh, ragged breaths, and he felt certain that he had just awakened from a terrible nightmare of some sort, though he could not for the unlife of him remember it. He glanced around him, relieved as the haze that had filled his head for what felt like days seemed to drift away, leaving his mind clear for the first time in far too long.

 

Clear – but strangely blank.

 

He couldn’t remember how he had come to be here, unconscious on the floor of his cell.

 

He glanced down as another twinge of pain struck him, his eyes widening in shock at the rude stitching that marked his torso, holding closed two long, livid cuts in the form of an “x”. Slowly he reached toward it, further alarmed by the violent trembling of his own hand as he cautiously traced the marks, and tried to remember how they had gotten there.

 

He could not.

 

Terror seized him…swiftly followed by rage at said terror.

 

These were mere *humans*! How could they do this to him, lower him to this point, trembling and cowering on the floor of a cage?

 

He stumbled to his feet, wincing and nearly going down as the motion tore at his injuries, but managing to pull himself up by the wall as he opened his mouth to let out a roar of rage.

 

“Bloody wankers! I’ll kill you all, I will…this soddin’ piece of machinery in my head won’t last forever! I’m gonna get it out and when I do…”

 

He suddenly stopped, raising a hand to his throat as he realized that, though he had been speaking, he had not made a sound. Instantly he felt as if all the air had been sucked out of him, as he backed up suddenly against the wall, gasping for unneeded breath, clutching at his throat, which felt strangely uninjured – though he knew that there had to be a cut somewhere.

 

He tried again to speak, desperately – but it was useless.

 

A cold, overwhelming sense of despair came over him, as Spike realized that the Initiative had finally succeeded in taking everything from him – probably in breaking him. He did not know exactly what they had done, but somehow, they had rendered him utterly, completely helpless.

 

They had taken his ability to speak.


	14. Chapter 14

Despite the fear and confusion of the silence that had blanketed the whole town, Willow was mentally congratulating herself on her ingenuity as she carried a pair of whiteboards and markers back toward the Initiative cell where Spike was being kept. Of course, by the time she reached the secret entrance in the fraternity house, she had begun to pass roadside hawkers who were selling the things at ridiculously exploitative prices – but they hadn’t been there when she had first gotten the idea.

 

Still, it was hard to feel all that proud of herself – all that positive in general, actually – given the current circumstances.

 

She stopped just outside the blond vampire’s cell, scrawling a quick message on one of them before sliding her keycard to open the cell door just long enough to drop the other board and a marker inside. Only after she had done so did she get her first good look at Spike, and a concerned frown creased her brow at the sight of him.

 

The vampire was huddled against the far wall of the cell, his arms crossed protectively over his bare stomach, which bore the crude scars of the recent experimentation he had endured. That alone was enough to make Willow feel sick inside, even before she caught his weary, hopeless eyes. He seemed to register a bare trace of surprise at her presence, glancing listlessly down to see what she had dropped inside his cell, before looking away again, utterly disconsolate.

 

“Spike! Look at my board! *Spike*!” Willow uselessly voiced the words, frustrated when she was reminded of the futility of such an attempt. She stomped her foot in irritation, then again a couple of times in an attempt to gain the vampire’s attention.

 

When Spike finally brought his reluctant gaze back to her, she pointed emphatically at the board on the floor, gesturing for him to pick it up, then pointed to her own board and its hurriedly scribbled message.

 

“Can you talk?”

 

Spike stared up at her dully for a long moment, an incredulous look of betrayal in his eyes, before shaking his head and lowering his gaze to the floor again.Willow realized with dismay that, for some reason, he seemed to be blaming her for his ailment, their tentative trust having vanished.

 

Fear and confusion now joining her frustration, Willow swiped out the message on her board with the little eraser attached to the top and wrote again, holding it up for the vampire’s review and rapping sharply on the wall beside the door.

 

“I don’t think anyone can. Something’s happened.”

 

Spike closed his eyes for a moment, before slowly, deliberately raising them again to the board, and Willow got the uncomfortable impression that he was only complying with her silent request because he felt that he had no choice. She had no idea what might have happened to cause it, but for some reason he seemed to think that she was against him again…and that thought caused her more dismay than she wanted to think about at the moment.

 

With a grimace of pain, the vampire focused his attention on the board. As the words she had written gradually registered with him, his crystal blue eyes widened with understanding – and returning hope. He glanced uncertainly between her face and the board in her hands for a few moments, and then seemed to make his decision.

 

He steeled himself against the pain, crawling weakly across the floor until he could reach the whiteboard she had given him, one arm still braced across his damaged torso. Willow cringed, and immediately regretted placing the board so far out of his reach. Still, she knew it was too dangerous to venture inside his cell right now, when the place was so full of frantic activity. She could not risk being caught in Spike’s cell without an official reason to be there.

 

Spike reached the board and picked up the marker, writing quickly and then holding it up to her, his eyes anxious and searching as they focused on her face, gauging her reaction.

 

“You lot didn’t do this? It’s something else?”

 

Willow’s expression softened as she shook her head emphatically in response, her heart smitten with guilt and sympathy at the fear that was still obvious in his questioning eyes. She now understood why the vampire had been so desolate, so utterly hopeless, as well as the mistrust that he had displayed in response to her initial question.

 

“No one here knows what it is. Need to find Buffy.”

 

Spike read the board quickly, and Willow was relieved to see the sparkle back in his eyes as they danced over her message. He nodded his agreement with her plan and jotted down his response.

 

“Come back soon, let me know what’s going on?”

 

Willow nodded, giving the vampire a reassuring smile that faded into a reproving frown as she returned her attention momentarily to the board in her hands. She held it up again, her lips set in a tight line, though her eyes were still warm and concerned.

 

“You really thought I would help take your voice?”

 

Spike grimaced at that, giving a defensive little half-shrug of apology as he started to write again. Before Willow could read his message, however, they heard the ominous sound of the door at the end of the hall sliding open. Willow hurriedly gestured for Spike to hide the message board, before motioning toward the exit at the other end of the hall.

 

Spike nodded his understanding, sliding back against the wall again with a wince of pain as he slipped the board and marker between his back and the wall. Willow took off down the hall at a brisk pace, trying to appear as if she had a reason to be there, should whoever was entering make their way in before she could get out of sight.

 

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out into the adjoining hallway without being seen by the approaching guards – only to walk directly into a second pair of soldiers. The two young men looked surprised to see her, but not at all suspicious, as they gestured urgently for her to go back the way she had come.

 

She shook her head and pointed in the direction she had been headed, hoping that the vague gesture would be enough to convince them that she knew where she was going and why, but with little success. One of the men took her arm gently but firmly, and turned her back toward the hall, while the second took the marker from her hand and wrote on her board, holding it up for her perusal with a firm nod.

 

“It’s not safe outside right now.”

 

Willow shook her head, but was unable to change their minds as the young men escorted her back into the hall she had just left, toward the exit at the opposite end of the hall. She cast Spike a desperate, helpless glance as she passed his cell, but there was nothing he could do but watch as the soldiers led her through the door and out of sight.

 

Willow’s heart was pounding so hard that she was sure it was audible in the unnatural silence that filled the compound, as Maggie Walsh’s back came into sight in the large main area of the Initiative headquarters. Her throat went dry as the commander turned toward her, but to Willow’s relief, she gave her a warm smile, nodding with approval as her eyes fell on the board around Willow’s neck.

 

With a “May I?” sort of look, Walsh lifted the board and wrote a message on it quickly.

 

“Glad we found you. Worried you might have gotten hurt. At least a half dozen escape attempts in the last half hour.”

 

Returning her smile weakly, trying not to show her overwhelming relief, Willow held up one hand, index finger and thumb pressed together in the universal gesture for “okay”. Walsh erased what she had written, writing more.

 

“Best if you stay here until we know what’s causing this.”

 

Willow felt her heart drop, but faced with the stern, motherly expression on Walsh’s face, could do nothing but nod her reluctant consent, wondering how in the world she was going to get to Buffy. She was going to have to find a way to get past the multitude of soldiers that seemed to fill the place like never before, and out from under Walsh’s watchful, protective eye, if she was ever going to get to the people who could actually help her to solve this strange dilemma.

 

Fortunately, Walsh and the others surrounding her seemed preoccupied enough with the problem that, once assured that she was safe, they soon lost interest in what Willow was doing. She backed up a few steps as someone brought in a large stack of new whiteboards, and Walsh began doling them out to the men closest to her. Willow managed to slip back out of the main laboratory into the holding cells again.

 

She cast a frazzled glance at Spike, shaking her head in frustration as she passed him. He gave her a knowing smirk, clearly amused by her predicament, and her glance turned into a glare as she made her way once more toward the exit.

 

To her dismay, she found it blocked.

 

A soldier stood guard at the exit, a whiteboard around his neck. He used it to explain as he blocked her way out the door.

 

“No one leaves. Lockdown in fifteen minutes.”

 

Willow swallowed hard, though she tried not to show her dismay at that fact, nodding to the soldier before turning back the way she had come. She couldn’t help looking in Spike’s direction when she found herself near his cell again, rolling her eyes at the hurried message he had scrawled on his board.

 

“Problems?”

 

She did not answer, trying another door about halfway down the hall. She wasn’t quite sure where it led, but hoped that she might be able to find another exit, and quickly. Unfortunately, she only found another group of soldiers, the leader of which gave her a pleased smile as he caught her arm and stopped her progress, writing a message on his board.

 

“Walsh wants your help.”

 

As they led her past Spike’s cell and toward the main lab again, Willow suppressed a giggle at the sight of Spike’s whiteboard, which bore a large picture of a hand, middle finger extended upward in an obscene gesture which was clearly directed at the distracted soldiers, who didn’t notice it, much to Willow’s relief. She realized an instant later that the effort of suppressing her amusement was unnecessary; it was not as if the soldiers could hear her laughter, anyway.

 

She struggled to focus on the situation at hand, well aware that if Walsh managed to put her to work on some sort of project here, it would be next to impossible for her to find another chance to get away. Just short of the door, she pulled away from the soldier in the lead, holding up a finger in a gesture to wait, writing quickly.

 

“Forgot something in my cubicle. Tell her I’ll be right there.”

 

The soldier hesitated a moment before shrugging and disappearing with the others through the door. Willow waited until it had closed behind them to head down the hall again, smiling at the new picture Spike had drawn on his board – a crudely scrawled bouquet of flowers, which he held over his chest in both hands in a way that made him look even more like a corpse than usual.

 

As she looked at him, he opened his eyes and gave her a mischievous wink.

 

Willow went on, not able to stop with so little time until the lockdown went into effect. She tried a third door this time, further down the hallway…only to be cut off again, this time by a pair of soldiers and a doctor in a white lab coat who ushered her back toward the door.

 

She looked past them at an eerily silent commotion further down the hall, where a large demon struggled against its human captors as they fought to subdue it. The doctor wrote on his message board, directing her attention to it with a serious expression on his face.

 

“Not safe down here. These animals are out of control.”

 

Willow sighed in frustration as they escorted her back into the holding cells, rolling her eyes and giving Spike a petulant glare as he laughed aloud – though soundlessly, of course – at her repeated predicament. He shook his head, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he scrawled another message on his board and held it up near the door of his cell.

 

Willow could not help but laugh at his antics despite herself, when she saw the block letters he had written, beneath a suggestive smile and a single lifted eyebrow he cast in her direction.

 

“Will shag for blood.”

 

Willow felt a moment’s apprehension as the doctor and soldiers seemed to notice the vampire’s behavior, but she was relieved when they appeared to dismiss it as unimportant under the circumstances. The doctor and one of the two soldiers simply looked ahead again as they made their way back toward the lab, but the other soldier’s gaze lingered on the attractive blond vampire, a slow smile spreading across his face as he returned the leer Spike had intended only for Willow.

 

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the board with a clatter, giving the flirtatious soldier a snarl as he moved toward the back of his cell again, suddenly losing interest in his game. Willow could not help but laugh at the situation, despite her thwarted attempts at escape.

 

*Serves him right,* she thought, not without affection, as the door slid open again and the soldiers led her back into the lab.

 

Walsh greeted her warmly, placing a hand on her shoulder as she led her to a desk near the corner of the room, directing her attention to a stack of charts and maps that were meaningless to Willow, even as her commander attempted to explain their purpose using the message boards and various gestures. Willow did her best to feign attention, though her mind was focused on the door at the top of the stairs across the room.

 

It was the nearest exit, but she was surrounded by Initiative soldiers and doctors, and knew that her leaving could hardly go unnoticed.

 

At this point, however, she might not have a choice when it came to discretion.

 

She waited until Walsh seemed satisfied that she understood her assignment and walked away. She edged slowly away from the group, her eyes darting between the distracted commander and the base of the stairs that represented freedom to her. As the distance gradually decreased between Willow and escape, she felt her heart pounding so loudly that she was certain the others would hear it.

 

Finally, she reached the stairs, and slipped quickly and quietly up them and onto the platform above. She glanced at the elevator doors, before remembering the voice recognition system it used and heading for the stairs leading up into the frat house instead. At any moment, she expected someone to stop her…but no one did, as she made her way up into Lowell House, and out onto the street beyond.

 

******************************************

 

Willow was greeted with a powerful, Slayer-strength hug when she finally reached Giles’ apartment, and was reduced to a weak but insistent tapping on her friend’s shoulder to remind her that she *did* require breath to live. Buffy released her with a sheepish smile, before writing on her own message board.

 

“I was worried about you. So glad you’re safe.”

 

Willow gave her an appreciative smile. “What’s going on?” she wrote. “What’s causing this?”

 

Buffy shrugged. “Giles is researching, and I had a Slayer dream, but nothing much so far.”

 

While Willow was reading Buffy’s message, she was vaguely aware of Xander beside her, writing on his own board. She turned her eyes to it next.

 

“It’s all over town, but only town.”

 

Willow gave him a knowing grimace, sighing as she replied. “Imagine that.”

 

“Where were you?” Buffy wrote, frowning questioningly. “We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

 

Willow thought quickly, suppressing a feeling of guilt for her lie as she wrote. “Library. It’s so quiet anyway, didn’t notice anything until I went outside.”

 

She felt a combination of relief and guilt when the others seemed to readily accept her explanation. Buffy put an arm around her as they moved further into the apartment, clearly relieved just to know that her friend was safe.

 

For the next few hours, Willow put her guilty questions out of her mind, as she and the others focused on research, and tried to find the solution to Sunnydale’s unexplained silence.


	15. Chapter 15

When Giles finally figured out what they were facing, Willow felt a tremendous sense of relief at knowing that the ordeal was that much nearer to being over. However, they still had no idea how to actually stop the Gentlemen. Hours of research yielded nothing, and by the time sunset approached, Willowwas feeling more than a little discouraged.

 

Buffy walked her back to their dorm, to ensure her safety, before heading out into the gathering twilight to patrol. During the silent walk, which felt far more awkward to Willow than it seemed to feel to Buffy, the little redhead struggled to find the words to say – or rather, the words she would have said, if she’d been able to speak – to reveal her secret double life to her best friend.

 

The silence was almost a blessed relief to her, freeing her from the responsibility of telling the truth.

 

For now.

 

Once Buffy had left her in their room with the door firmly locked, Willow laid out a few books she had taken from Giles’ collection and began to read, searching for some sort of spell that might help to break the curse the Gentlemen had placed over Sunnydale, but with no success.

 

She had to admit, her mind wasn’t really on the work.

 

Willow let out a silent sigh, glancing around the empty room once more. She fought back the sudden impulse to just hide away in the safety of her room and wait out the storm that her friends would certainly find a way to end.

 

She sat down wearily on the edge of her bed. *Just need to…to catch my bearings…just for a second…*

 

Her mind was spinning with the various secret concerns she had held inside over the last couple weeks, and she felt just a little bit sick at the thought of revealing what she had kept hidden for so long from her friends. Still, she knew that there was no choice. Her involvement with the Initiative had reached the point that she knew she was going to need help to get out.

 

And – to get Spike out, as well.

 

A sudden pounding on a door down the hall made her jump, drawing her forcefully out of her reverie, and she looked up with alarm toward her own door, a worried frown creasing her brow. The pounding continued briefly, frantic and hurried, and Willow’s vaguely unsettled feeling increased.

 

She had lived in Sunnydale long enough to recognize the sounds of panic when she heard them – even the non-vocal ones.

 

She hesitated a moment, uncertain whether or not she should just stay in the safety of her room. But then she realized, without the sounds of actual voices to let her know when the threat outside had passed, she could hide there forever without knowing when it was safe to step outside again. And besides, it wasn’t as if she could just stand there, knowing that someone was likely in terrible danger just outside that door.

 

*Maybe it’s safe now…maybe it’s nothing at all…*

 

Willow rose from the edge of her bed and went to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hall, glancing cautiously to either side. Almost immediately, a blur of blonde hair and soft, feminine flesh slammed into her, knocking her to the floor in a tangle of limbs and bodies. As she struggled to right herself again, she looked up to see one of the girls from her Wicca group – Tara, was it? – staring at her through wide, frightened eyes.

 

Willow automatically opened her mouth to ask what was going on, before remembering that it would do no good. As she did, Tara glanced over her shoulder fearfully, and Willow followed her gaze, her eyes widening in alarm.

 

Several tall, ghastly figures glided down the hall toward them, their grey, wrinkled faces twisted into malevolent smiles that revealed shining white teeth. Accompanying them were several much less graceful, loping creatures that seemed to be sewn together from spare parts, stumbling and staggering as they lurched toward the two fallen girls.

 

Willow fought off the paralyzing sense of panic as her mind filled with grim images, far more graphic and detailed than the transparency stick drawings Giles had managed. She had no idea how many hearts the Gentlemen had managed to collect by now, but they quite obviously were in search of at least one more.

 

Willow scrambled to her feet, grasping the other girl’s hand and mouthing, “Come on,” as she pulled her down the hall toward the emergency exit and down the stairs to the first floor of the building.

 

Willow and Tara raced through the halls, but encountered only one locked door after another. Willow let out a silent sigh of relief when one door finally gave – the door to a small student lounge containing nothing more than a few tables and chairs and soda and snack machines. She glanced hurriedly down the hall the way they had come, noting with relief that the monsters were at least one turn behind them, and would not see them slip through the door into the lounge.

 

Huddled on the floor of the lounge, the girls waited breathlessly for the frightening creatures to either pass by in the hall outside…or not pass by at all.

 

Willow’s mind raced as she tried to think of something she could do to protect herself and the other girl, and her eyes lit on the soda machine near the door. Focusing her thoughts and energy on the machine, her eyes narrowed as she tried to move it into the doorway to block the path of their pursuers, who, while terrifying, did not appear to be overly strong.

 

The machine shook, but did not move.

 

She tried again, with the same disappointing result.

 

Frustration and fear threatened to overwhelm her…until she felt a soft, warm hand clasp around hers, and looked with surprise at the girl seated beside her. With an encouraging nod, Tara glanced toward the machine and the door before meeting her eyes again in a silent question. Understanding immediately, Willow nodded, gripping Tara’s hand firmly in her own, and focused her attention once more on the soda machine.

 

She gasped as a sensation like a powerful electric current coursed through her from Tara.

 

Instantly, the heavy machine flew from its spot to slam down across the doorway of the room in a makeshift protective barricade.

 

***************************************

 

Hours passed in the eerie silence of the room, while Willow and Tara waited for the danger to pass, reasonably secure in the fortified lounge. Their successful attempt at combining their magical power gave them both the confidence to believe that they would be safe, perhaps even if the monsters *did* manage to break into the room. After all, if their first attempt had worked so well, what else might they accomplish together?

 

They found a used spiral notebook and a pen on one of the tables, and began using it to pass the time in casual conversation, re-introducing themselves and exchanging the usual minor personal details. Willow found herself strangely drawn to the shy, pretty young woman, who clearly shared her interests and abilities in magic.

 

They wrote and waited in silence, and even dozed a bit, until they saw the sunrise through the small windows near the ceiling of the lounge. Willow cleared her throat, testing her voice for the hundredth time that night – and was amazed when she heard actual sound issuing from it.

 

“H-hello?” she tried cautiously, her voice hushed and uncertain after the night’s forced silence.

 

She and Tara both laughed with excited relief when they heard her voice actually echo in the quiet room.

 

“It’s gone!” Tara exulted, and Willow thought that she had a nice voice, sweet and soft, like warm honey. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

 

Willow only took a moment to enjoy having her ability to speak back, before her joy faded somewhat with the memory of the events of the previous day, and the other reason she had needed to seek out her friends.

 

*Spike*.

 

“So, um…it’s daylight now, and what with us having our voices back and all, I’d guess it’s safe to go outside again. Whatever those guys were last night, I’m pretty sure they’re gone, so…it’s probably safe for you to go back to your room and get some sleep. Thank you…so much…for all your help, and…and I’ll see you later, but…but I really have somewhere I need to be.”

 

Willow turned awkwardly toward the door, unsure why she suddenly felt so self-conscious in the presence of the shy, pretty blonde – and stopped short when her eyes fell on the doorway. She stared for just a moment before turning to face Tara with a sheepish smile.

 

“But, um…first…could you help me put that soda machine back?”

 

*****************************************

 

When Willow made her way into her own dorm room ten minutes later, it was just after seven o’clock. She was immensely relieved – and also terrified – to see Buffy there, seated on the edge of her bed, lost in thought and staring at the floor at her feet.

 

Willow was glad to see that her friend had survived the fight with the Gentlemen relatively unscathed, and had managed to break the curse and regain their voices; but she was also filled with a sick feeling of dread…because now the time had come to tell the truth about her secret activities of the last few weeks.

 

If she could only find the courage to do so.

 

Buffy looked up at her through troubled eyes, and Willow suddenly felt a new concern at the sight of the shock and confusion on her face.

 

“Buffy?” she asked softly. “Are you all right?”

 

Buffy just stared at her blankly for a moment, as if the question did not make sense to her.

 

“Buffy?” Willow repeated gently, moving to sit beside her friend on the bed, reaching out to take her trembling hand in her own. “What is it? What happened?” Her eyes widened with a horrible thought as she added a fearful question, “God, Buffy…is everyone okay? Nobody got…hurt, did they?”

 

Buffy shook her head slowly, looking away from her again. She did not pull her hand away from her friend, but it just hung limply in Willow’s anxious grasp.

 

“Buffy…*what*?” Willow pressed.

 

“Riley…he’s…Riley’s one of the commandos.”

 

“*What*?”

 

Willow swallowed hard, her throat going dry as an overwhelming feeling of guilt came over her. She had already known that Riley was involved with the Initiative, but she had not seen the need to tell Buffy – yet – because the Slayer and the soldier had not seemed to be all that serious about each other.

 

Judging from the stricken expression on Buffy’s face, Willow ruefully decided that her assumption had been hasty and false.

 

“He was – he was out there, too, last night, while I was patrolling,” Buffy explained. “I just thought…I mean…he’s all Mr. Macho and everything. I just thought he didn’t realize how dangerous it was. But…but I guess he was…working, too. He was…looking out for people. Trying to keep them from getting hurt in all the panic and everything, you know?”

 

Buffy looked up at her with searching eyes, and Willow found that she could not hold her gaze. Dropping her eyes to the floor, Willow nodded, mumbling, “Uh-huh.”

 

“So…I followed the Gentlemen to where they had set up all their stuff…the hearts and everything…and I’m fighting them…and suddenly Riley shows up. In all his commando gear. He’s one of them, Willow. Those guys we’ve been trying to find out about? He’s one of them. All this time…and I had no idea.”

 

Willow drew in a deep, shaky breath, her heart pounding as she struggled to find the nerve to tell her friend the truth. A sick, hot feeling filled her throat, and she swallowed it down with an effort, opening her mouth to speak.

 

Buffy spoke first. “How could he hide something like that from me, for so long? I mean…I really trusted him. And…and I guess…I don’t know. Maybe I still can. I mean, they’re monster hunters, right? So…that kind of makes them good guys…right?”

 

Willow’s mind flashed back to the ghastly cuts and scars that had covered Spike’s body when last she had seen him, and her eyes welled with unwelcome tears.

 

*No…no, they’re not the good guys. Not at all.*

 

“Buffy…”

 

“I mean, so he wasn’t exactly honest. I wasn’t either. I kept *my* secret identity…well, secret. So…maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe it’s still okay…”

 

“Buffy, it’s *not* okay.”

 

Buffy blinked in surprise, looking up at Willow as the redhead stood, straightening her shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. The Slayer’s wide emerald eyes seemed incredibly trusting in the light of Willow’s guilty conscience, as she fought against her own fears in preparation to reveal the truth.

 

“What? Willow, what are you talking about?”

 

“It’s not okay,” Willow repeated, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush. “It’s evil. It’s called the Initiative, and yes, Riley’s a part of it…and it’s evil. It needs to be stopped…and *we* need to stop it.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Willow had never been so nervous and self-conscious in her life.

 

She sat on Giles’ living room sofa, her eyes focused on her trembling hands folded in her lap, surrounded by the people she knew best and loved dearest in the world – and terrified by them. She could feel their penetrating stares, focused on her in varying degrees of surprise, disbelief…and even betrayal.

 

She glanced up to take them in, then immediately looked away again, unable to bear the intense scrutiny she was facing. Xander and Anya sat on the sofa beside her, Xander’s wide, bewildered eyes searching her face for answers to the questions that were obviously flooding his mind.

 

All Willow wanted to see in his eyes was the blind trust he had shown her all their lives…but that seemed far away now.

 

Buffy was seated in the armchair across from the sofa, her back pressed against the firm upholstery, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes carefully averted from those of her best friend.

 

Giles paced the floor slowly, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Let me…try to understand this, Willow. The commandos we’ve been searching for…this…Initiative, as you called it…studies demons. And Riley is a part of it? And you know so very much about them…how, exactly? How are you involved with them? And why have you not spoken to us of this before?”

 

“Can we just…take…one question at a time? Please?” Willow looked up at him almost desperately, wringing her hands in her lap as she swallowed back the nervous, sick feeling in her throat. “Please?”

 

“Of course, Willow,” Giles assured her, leaning casually against the arm of the sofa and giving her an expectant look. “Why don’t you just…start at the beginning?”

 

“Um…okay.” Willow drew in a deep, shaky breath as she looked down at her lap again and began. “Professor Walsh…approached me, and…and she knew all about me knowing all about…like, demons and vampires and all. And she told me about this place…the Initiative…and the work they’re doing to…to learn about demons…hostiles, they call them. She said…she said she could use someone with my…my talents and experience.”

 

Her voice faltered slightly over those words, as she was reminded by the looks on her friends’ faces of why she had accepted Walsh’s offer in the first place.

 

They all looked so surprised that Willow had been recruited by the Initiative at all.

 

“So…so I signed up,” Willow admitted with a little shrug. “I mean…it sounded like a good thing…”

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Buffy interrupted, a hard note to her voice, her tense, defensive posture unchanging as she glared at her friend. “Why didn’t you tell *me*, Willow? I’m your best friend. Don’t you think that’s a pretty big secret to keep?”

 

“Like you’ve never kept secrets?” Willow snapped, her voice trembling with anger. When Buffy flinched slightly, her eyes going wide with startled hurt, Willow winced and let out another sigh. “I’m sorry, Buffy. It’s just…they told me I *had* to keep it a secret, you know? It’s military, and…and the whole thing’s like, fifteen steps past classified. I *couldn’t* say anything.”

 

She was silent for a moment, well aware that her equally silent friends were not fully accepting her explanation…and that they were right not to accept it.

 

“And…” she finally admitted. “And…I guess it just felt…felt kind of good to have something that was just…just mine, you know? Something that *I* could do for good. Something where I was more than just…the sidekick.”

 

Willow swallowed hard, deliberately ignoring Buffy’s sharp intake of breath, and the hurt expression she knew would be on her friend’s face if she dared to look at her. She knew that her not-really-intentional revelation of the feelings she had been hiding for…well, years now…was something they would have to talk about later, but now was not the time.

 

She had more important things to say at the moment, and she had to be sure that the Slayer heard them.

 

“But they’re *not* doing good,” she went on, forcing herself to meet Buffy’s eyes in spite of the awkward feeling in the air between them. “What they’re doing is so far from good…they’re every bit as bad as any demon you’ve ever slain, Buffy.”

 

The Slayer frowned, momentarily distracted from her hurt feelings. “Why do you say that?”

 

“Slaying is one thing,” Willow explained, her eyes averted again. “I mean…slaying demons and vamps before they hurt anyone is kind of your job, and it’s important. But what they’re doing is horrible, Buffy. Experiments…surgery without anesthetic or drugs or anything…we’re talking torture, here, Buffy.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly at the word, and she repeated it in a small, weak voice. “Torture? What kind of torture?”

 

“I’ve got a better question,” Xander broke in, his voice calm and even, and Willow was surprised at the coldness she saw when she turned to look him in the eye. “Why should we care?”

 

****************************************

 

It was amazing how slowly time could crawl when one had absolutely nothing to do.

 

Spike sat against the wall of his cell, the blank whiteboard in one hand and the marker in the other. He had long since tired of using it to write obscenities and insults, which he then aimed at the passing soldiers. That game had become especially boring once he had realized that his voice – and everyone else’s – had returned.

 

Upon receiving that exciting revelation, he had progressed from written insults and taunts to vocal ones, but for whatever reason, they soldiers seemed to be avoiding him completely. They did not respond in the slightest to his attempts to irritate them, to provoke them, just to gain some kind of a reaction…some break in the endless monotony.

 

He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes briefly. At least his injuries were healing, and faster than he had expected them to. The white-coated scientists had actually been feeding him for a change, and he could feel his strength returning.

 

*Lot of bloody good it does me with this soddin’ chip in my head.*          

 

He lowered his gaze to the whiteboard again, lifting the marker and idly drawing a rather crude, unflattering likeness of Walsh. He smiled to himself as he rendered her unattractive features even less attractive on the board, wishing that he had the opportunity to do so in actuality as well…preferably with his fangs.

 

*Or maybe with a good branding iron…*

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the shadow of a small, slim figure in a white lab coat standing in the doorway, and smiled to himself. He had known that sooner or later Willow would return.

 

“So, you and your mates fixed the problem, did you?” he remarked, raising his eyes to give her a smirk. He froze, however, his gaze going cold when he recognized the figure in the doorway to his cell.

 

Maggie Walsh.

 

She looked down at him with a cold, contemptuous smile on her face, and Spike felt a shudder of fear go down his spine in spite of himself at the malicious pleasure in her eyes. A cold knot of dread formed in his stomach when he saw her eyes fall on the board and marker in his hands. Her smile widened, and he realized that the contraband items were likely just the excuse she had been looking for.

 

Her deceptively calm words confirmed his suspicions. “So, you’ve found a way to steal from our supplies somehow, Seventeen? You know we can’t have that.”

 

As she spoke, Spike noticed with alarm the two uniformed soldiers that had appeared behind her. Walsh moved to the side to allow them to enter his cell, her cold, nasty smile never faltering.

 

Spike scrambled to his feet, eyeing them warily as he took a step backward, the board and marker dropping from his hand to clatter on the floor. He fought back a sense of rising panic, glancing toward the door, mentally assessing his options. His natural fight or flight instinct had his mind racing, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

 

The problem was, there was no escape past the armed soldiers and Walsh, and fighting was not an option, either. His heart sank as the soldiers approached him, swiftly closing the distance between the door and where he stood. There was no hope of getting out of this encounter unscathed.

 

He was helplessly trapped.

 

****************************************

 

“I’m just saying,” Xander continued, raising one hand in an apologetic half-shrug. “I don’t see why we should worry about it, as long as all they’re doing is being done to demons. I mean…they’re supposed to die, right?”

 

He frowned at Anya as she pointedly removed her hand from his, giving him a reproachful glare.

 

“What?”

 

“Is that really how you feel, Xander? It’s okay to torture demons?” Anya asked, hurt in her voice. “So before I was human, it would have been okay to torture *me*?”

 

“Okay, let’s clarify here.” Xander raised his hands in a halting gesture, meeting his girlfriend’s eyes and trying to make her understand where he was coming from. “I don’t think it’s okay to torture *anybody*. But I’m just saying…if this Initiative is *only* hurting demons, don’t you think Buffy’s got more important things to worry about? I mean…people die in this town every day because of the kind of monsters these government guys are getting off the streets. I’m not saying their methods are great…but I kinda think the good might outweigh the bad here.”

 

Anya did not look in the least appeased. “So what if they came after me, Xander?” she demanded. “Would the good still outweigh the bad?”

 

“So sorry to interrupt this little lovers’ spat, but we have more important matters to consider at the moment,” Giles informed them, his voice calm and mildly sarcastic as he stood up straight, his piercing gaze falling on the nervous little redhead.

 

“We do?” Willow asked in a small, tremulous voice.

 

“I am terribly surprised by your recklessness and irresponsibility, Willow.” Giles’ blunt words took the girl by surprise, and she stared up at him through wide, hurt eyes, but the Watcher did not back down. “Becoming involved in such an organization, without any real knowledge of their activities, their history or source…without so much as telling a single one of us what you were doing…”

 

“I thought they were the good guys,” Willow explained, feeling miserable and lost and completely under attack.

 

“I think they *are* the good guys,” Xander put in.

 

Giles dismissed his words with a wave of his hand, his eyes flashing angrily on Willow as he continued, “You had no way of knowing, one way or the other, Willow! You should have at least informed us of what you had found out about them. For God’s sake, Buffy’s been *dating* one of them for the past few weeks!”

 

“I don’t…think they’re a danger to anyone who’s…human…” Willow attempted weakly. “I think.”

 

“Buffy is your friend, Willow.” Giles’ voice was low, almost dangerous, as he pointed out, “But you must not forget that she is more than that. She is more than merely human. She is the Slayer. These…scientists you described study otherworldly creatures, attempting to discover ways of harnessing their powers, controlling them. Is that correct?”

 

Willow nodded silently, unable to bring herself to speak.

 

“What do you think would have happened had Riley discovered her powers? I’m sure your new friends at the Initiative labs would have considered her quite a specimen for their *research*!” Giles’ tone was sharp and biting by now, trembling with suppressed anger, born of fear for his Slayer.

 

And Willow couldn’t really blame him.

 

Tears welled in her eyes as she lowered her gaze to her lap for a moment, swallowing back a sob. She glanced over at Buffy, who was staring off to the side, her expression stony as she appeared to be just trying to process what Willow had told her about Riley and the organization he was involved in.

 

“I’m sorry,” Willow finally whispered. “Buffy…Giles…everybody. I’m sorry. I screwed up, okay? I did. Badly, I know. But…there’s other things that we have to…”

 

The shrill sound of her pager going off interrupted her cautious attempt at steering the conversation back to the most pressing matter at the moment – the abused and violated prisoners in the Initiative labs.

 

One prisoner in particular – though she was not quite sure how to broach that topic with her friends yet. Thus far, she had carefully omitted Spike’s name from the conversation.

 

She took the pager out and stared down at it anxiously, already knowing that it could only be one person paging her.

 

Maggie Walsh.

 

“When did you get a pager?” Buffy demanded. “And why don’t I have the number? How many secrets have you been keeping, Will?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Willow repeated. “It’s Initiative-issued. Only the commander has the number.” Abruptly she rose to her feet, glancing once more at the pager before tucking it back into her pocket. She knew that she had taken a great risk, both to her own safety and to Spike’s, by taking off in the middle of the crisis to find her friends. Now that the strange silence had vanished, Walsh was surely wondering where she had gone. “We’ll have to finish this later. I’ve gotta go.”

 

“Go?” Giles echoed in disbelief. “Go where?”

 

“Willow!” Xander protested. “Come back here! We’ve got to talk about this!”

 

“I’ve gotta go!” Willow repeated frantically as she rushed out the door, headed back toward the Initiative, and whatever the consequences of her hasty escape might be.


	17. Chapter 17

There was nowhere to run or hide in the tiny cell, as the two armed soldiers swiftly approached.

 

Of course, Spike had never been one for running or hiding.

 

He fought desperately as they caught his arms to restrain him, struggling violently as they tried to get a better grip on him. He managed to jerk one arm free, in the process knocking one soldier back against the wall, and felt a moment’s satisfaction at the man’s grunt of pain.

 

It was a short-lived triumph, as a moment later his head exploded with pain, the chip punishing him for the pain he had inflicted. He nearly dropped to his knees with a howl of agony, fighting to maintain his balance, knowing that once he went down, it was going to be nearly impossible to get up again.

 

Unfortunately, down was exactly where the soldiers seemed to want him.

 

As the soldier he had thrown off came back, grasping his arm and twisting it behind his back, Spike fought with a wild desperation, kicking and snarling and struggling to free himself, trying to ignore the bright bursts of agony that filled his head every time he managed to get in a blow…and the blows he was landing were steadily weakening as the electric pain sapped his strength.

 

Unfortunately, these soldiers seemed unnaturally strong. Within minutes, they had him on his knees, and from there it was easy for them to push him down onto his back on the floor. Panic overwhelmed the vampire as he realized that they were winning. He was not strong enough to resist them much longer, especially not having any leverage with which to work.

 

His wide, panicked eyes fell briefly on the commander standing calmly to the side, watching as the soldiers subdued him.

 

Smiling.

 

************************************

 

Willow glanced anxiously up and down the hall as she ducked out of the hall closet just inside the Initiative entrance, where the lab coats were kept, shrugging into her own white lab coat as she did. No one had been in the hall when she had slipped into the closet, and no one was there now. With any luck, she hoped, she could get to Spike and be sure that he was all right, and back to the main lab without anyone ever being the wiser.

 

She hurried through the containment cells, quickening her pace as she neared the hall where Spike was being held, trying not to look too closely at any of the surrounding cells and their battered, listless inhabitants. However, near the end of the hall, she found her eyes drawn to a familiar form, crouched in the far corner of one particular cell.

 

Reluctantly she stopped, moving slowly closer to the cell, a frown of concern creasing her brow, her eyes widening in alarm at the physical state the large, loose-skinned demon was in.

 

Her hand rose to rest against the wall beside his invisible door, as she struggled to raise the nerve to address the trembling, frightened creature, and the memory to recall his name.

 

“Um…is it…Clem?”

 

**************************************

 

Spike struggled uselessly against the two soldiers who now pinned him to the floor, thrashing weakly against their restraining hands. He tried to shift to his vamp face in order to increase the strength of his struggles, but found that he no longer had the power even to make the change. His meager strength had already been nearly drained by the violent jolts of electricity running almost constantly through his head, due to his continued attempts to escape.

 

“Now, now, Seventeen,” Walsh spoke in a mockingly soft voice, from where she stood casually watching the scene. “You’re only hurting yourself. You’d do well to submit. You will eventually, you know.” As she spoke, she moved slowly toward him, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat.

 

Spike ignored her, pulling helplessly against the strong hands that now held his arms down, crossed at the wrists and pinned against his chest. The second soldier was holding his legs tightly together on the floor, keeping him in place. Spike fought against his rising despair and panic as the soldier holding his arms reached one hand up toward Walsh, who was holding out a large vial of amber fluid.

 

The man was only using one hand now to pin his wrists, and was still effortlessly holding him in place.

 

As the soldier reached toward his face with a grim smile, the vial held between two fingers, Spike turned his face away with a jerk.

 

“Okay, Seventeen,” the soldier muttered. “We can do this the hard way if you want.” As he spoke, he straddled the vampire’s chest, pinning his arms to his chest with his legs, freeing both of his own hands for their sadistic work. One hand gripped Spike’s hair, yanking his head backward, as the other tipped the vial toward his mouth.

 

Spike stubbornly clamped his mouth shut, determined not to allow them to get that strange liquid into his mouth.

 

The soldiers, of course, had other ideas.

 

“Okay, you asked for it,” the soldier on his chest declared, drawing back a powerful fist and slamming it brutally down across Spike’s face, knocking his head against the floor hard in a dazing, blinding blow.

 

Before Spike could recover, the man had gripped his lower jaw, wrenching his mouth open and holding it there, moving with the vampire’s desperate attempts to close his mouth again.

 

“You bite me and I’ll have your fangs for a trophy, you little freak!” the burly officer snarled, catching his upper jaw with his other hand and simultaneously pouring the golden fluid down his throat.

 

Spike choked and gagged as he struggled to spite out the vile, acidic liquid, but without success, as the soldier braced his arm under Spike’s chin, forcefully holding his head back and his mouth closed.

 

“Don’t fight this, Seventeen,” he advised coldly, the thumb of his other hand moving in a circle on Spike’s throat to force his swallowing reflex to work. “You know you can’t win.”

 

**********************************

 

“Clem? Your name is…Clem, right?”

 

Willow edged cautiously nearer to the cell where the rather harmless-looking demon she had spoken with earlier was housed. She frowned, troubled by the sight of him, huddled in the corner of his cell, his loose-skinned arms wrapped around his knees, his entire body trembling violently. He did not respond to her question, the only sound his shallow, panicked breathing, shaky and uneven.

 

Willow took another step toward the door of the cell, reaching for her keycard to open it, as she tried again to gain his attention. “Clem?”

 

Suddenly the demon lurched to his feet, hissing as he took a challenging step toward her, his features shifting into a hideous monstrosity which was nevertheless almost comical…or would have been, had his instinctive attempt at scaring her back not been so pitifully inadequate.

 

Willow was startled by the sudden movement, but not the least bit afraid of the battered creature.

 

Her eyes widened with horror as she looked over his bruised and bloodied form, much thinner now than she remembered from the last time she had seen him, and her eyes were drawn to the crude suture marks that criss-crossed his torso. The skilled and talented scientists who had been specially chosen by Walsh for work with the Initiative had apparently taken little care with stitching Clem back up, following whatever experimental surgery they had performed on him.

 

Even as these thoughts filled Willow’s mind, Clem stumbled, one arm braced across the surgical marks as he winced in pain and shifted back to his normal face. He immediately began to back away again, toward the wall, when reminded that he was in no shape to defend himself. He looked up at her through wide, terrified eyes, shaking his head rapidly in a silent plea, as soft sobs fell from his lips.

 

Willow was vaguely gratified by the recognition that finally dawned in his eyes, and with it a measure of hope.

 

“Willow?” Clem whispered, sliding down the wall to sit on the cold floor again, his arms crossed protectively over his bare torso. “Please…please help me.”

 

**************************************

 

The instant the soldiers released him, Spike rolled onto his side, away from them, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his tormentors as possible. However, it was hard to gain much distance when he couldn’t even summon enough strength to crawl away. His throat burned horribly with the effects of whatever fluid they had forced him to swallow, and he clutched his throat, coughing violently and gasping for breath.

 

“There, now,” Walsh remarked mildly, and Spike barely heard her over the roar of his own agony in his ears. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

Thundering footsteps rushing down the hall broke through Spike’s agony, and he caught the faint scent of strawberries and vanilla through the overpowering odor of the stuff he had swallowed, filling his mouth and nostrils.

 

*Willow*.

 

*******************************

 

Willow gasped in surprise, stumbling to a halt in front of Spike’s cell as she saw Walsh and two soldiers emerging from it. She tried to turn back, but it was too late. Walsh had already seen her.

 

“Willow,” she called sharply, and Willow froze with her back to the woman, grimacing as she let out a heavy sigh and slowly turned to face her again. “Come here.”

 

Meekly Willow made her way the few yards that separated her from her commander. As Spike’s cell came into her view, however, she found her gaze arrested by the sight of the vampire, huddled on the floor of his cell, clutching his throat and gasping for breath, choking and coughing in obvious agony.

 

“Where have you been?” Walsh demanded, guarded anger in her voice.

 

Despite the threat, Willow could not take her eyes from Spike, even as she struggled to come up with an explanation that would satisfy Walsh.

 

“I…got trapped in…in one of the other labs. When the lockdown happened…”

 

“When last I saw you, you were right behind me, and I had instructed you to remain with the others in the main lab. If you had been doing as you were told, you’d have no reason to be in any lab besides the main laboratory,” Walsh cut her off sharply, her eyes narrowed in suspicion on the young woman. “You wouldn’t have been trapped at all.”

 

“I…I…” Willow stammered as she finally raised her eyes to Walsh’s, trying to come up with an answer.

 

“I must say, I’m very disappointed, Willow,” Walsh went on, “and we *will* discuss this in full later. Now that you’re here, however, you may as well observe this particular test subject. I think you’ll find this particular experiment very…interesting.”

 

************************************

 

Spike tried to listen to the conversation between Willow and Walsh, desperate to find some opening to seek Willow’s help without alerting the commander to their developing friendship. However, after only a few brief moments, he found that he could no longer focus on the conversation for the burning, consuming agony in his throat.

 

He struggled to swallow down what little bit of the fluid remained in his throat, terrified that whatever burning properties it had might take his voice again. The last thing he wanted was to once again be forced into silence, after just regaining his power of speech.

 

He gasped for breath, which seemed to come with greater and greater difficulty, panic rising within him as the oxygen he only needed emotionally seemed blocked, only filling his lungs with an extreme effort.

 

Spike soon realized that his panicked breaths were a mistake, however, when he felt the burning sensation spread from his throat to his lungs, as the fumes from the amber liquid began to burn them as well. His entire torso was aflame with agony, as Spike struggled against the panic and pain to simply remain conscious long enough to gain Willow’s attention, and her help.

 

But then, he wondered with a sense of despair, as his hazy vision took in the stern expression on Walsh’s face as she glared at the girl…who was going to help *Willow*?


	18. Chapter 18

Willow tried to focus on the notes in front of her, the trembling scrawl so unlike her usual perfect penmanship, but found that her thoughts were predictably scattered. She tried to work out a plan to get back to the others without being noticed by Walsh or her men, to try to get some help, but couldn’t seem to think straight…couldn’t seem to think about much of anything, actually.

 

Anything but the vampire in the metal cage a few yards away from her.

 

Spike had been moved to the temporary holding cage for observation. He was slumped against the cold iron bars, barely conscious, trembling and gasping for breath in an attempt to control his reaction to…whatever Walsh and her men had done to him. He was even paler than usual, his face and body taut with pain, his hands pressing tightly against his abdomen as he sought to somehow ease the burning sensation there.

 

With a hard, sick lump in her throat, Willow could do nothing more than pick up her pen and add to her notes that, judging by the way he clutched at his stomach, moaning every now and then, the pain seemed to have shifted from his throat and esophagus down to his lungs and stomach.

 

She wanted to do so much more, wanted to help him somehow, but knew that Walsh was now suspicious of her. If she was caught being overly friendly with Spike, she knew that it would not be good for either of them.

 

Spike’s low, hoarse voice drew her scattered attention from the hurried notes she had been taking only out of necessity, but she couldn’t quite make out the words he was trying to say. She flinched, averting her eyes as he grimaced in pain from even the attempt to speak. Although the main effects seemed to have shifted to his abdomen, apparently his throat was still raw and sore.

 

*There could be cameras…Walsh could come in any second…*

 

Willow swallowed hard, her conscience warring with her fears as she debated whether or not to abandon the disgustingly cold process of note-taking to which she had been assigned, and go to the side of the suffering vampire she had befriended.

 

“Please…” This time she could barely make out the pained, rasping whisper. “Red…please…”

 

Despite the risk, she could not bring herself to ignore his plea for compassion. With a trembling sigh of resignation, Willow rose from her seat, glancing anxiously around for any sign of intrusion before moving to the side of the cage and sitting down beside him. Only the iron bars separated them, and she knew that she was well within Spike’s reach, but the thought did not frighten her.

 

She was more frightened at this point by what her fellow humans were capable of than she ever had been of Spike.

 

He gave her a grateful half-smile, weak and shaky with his pain, as he reached out a hand through the bars to rest on hers.

 

“What…what did you…need?” Willow whispered, barely able to look at him for the guilt she felt, for being even a passive part of his suffering.

 

Spike hesitated before replying, finally letting out his breath in a heavy sigh, as if changing his mind and deciding not to say what he had been about to say. “J-just this,” he finally choked out, stroking her hand lightly and attempting a thin smile again. “’S all…”

 

Willow felt tears spring to her eyes and blinked them back, struggling to maintain her composure. If she broke down now, it would not do her or Spike any good. She turned her hand under his, holding it gently as she studied him with a concerned eye. There were no outward signs of damage, and Willow had arrived after Walsh and the others had finished.

 

“What…what did they do to you?” she ventured to ask in a soft, sympathetic whisper.

 

Spike shook his head, resting it against the bars as he gasped for breath through the pain. “Not…not sure, Red. Made me drink…not sure what it was…Bloody burns, though…feels like my bleedin’ insides are on fire…”

 

Willow swallowed back the sick feeling of guilt rising up in her throat. She had felt a little better after telling her friends about the Initiative, but had had to leave too suddenly to procure a definite promise that they would help her. When she had run off to answer her pager, they had still seemed to be of split opinions as to whether or not the Initiative needed stopping.

 

She could not promise to help him, and “sorry” was a useless word under these conditions…so Willow said nothing.

 

“So…who won?” Spike finally asked her in a hoarse, struggling voice, his head leaned against the bars, his eyes closed. It seemed he was just trying to distract himself from the pain…and not succeeding. “Who…who brought the voices back? Your little gang of do-gooders, or did this sad lot actually manage to pull it off?”

 

“It was Buffy,” Willow answered without hesitation. Then, she frowned, realizing that they had never actually discussed how the Gentlemen had been defeated. “At least…I think it was Buffy. I didn’t actually get the whole story on that. I was…” She cleared her throat, puzzled by the embarrassment she felt as she continued a bit awkwardly, “I…spent the whole night locked in a student lounge with…with this girl.”

 

Spike raised his head slightly, even through the pain he was in, catching the uncomfortable sound in her voice. He managed to draw a faint leer to his face and raised his eyebrows as he met her eyes. “Doesn’t sound like it was much of a hardship for you, love. Sounds like you rather enjoyed it.”

 

Willow felt her cheeks become heated at the insinuation in his words, but she just rolled her eyes dismissively. “Don’t be such a…such a *guy*, Spike.”

 

Much to Willow’s increased discomfort, Spike noticed her blush; and to her further humiliation, he sniffed the air slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face as his eyes narrowed. “Well, well…you *have* got the hots for the bird, haven’t you?”

 

“What?” Willow turned toward him, her eyes wide and indignant. “What bird? *Oh*! Oh, no…I’m not into…I mean, I date guys…or, *one* guy. Well, not at the moment, but anyway, I *have*, and…and Tara…well, I just met her anyway, and it was just one little spell, and…”

 

Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as her mind was drawn back to the intensity of the moment when her hand had joined with Tara’s and they had used their combined power to move the soda machine.

 

Spike watched her closely, having finally found something that was interesting enough to provide a momentary distraction from his pain. As Willow had spoken the other girl’s name, he had clearly seen the flush spread from her face, the heat flowing through her body, and the faint scent of her arousal easily reached his nostrils.

 

Ignoring her protests, he went on, his voice softer, lower, and almost seductive despite its pained, raspy sound. “What is it about the girl that’s got you suddenly ready to switch teams, pet? The…long, shiny hair, perhaps? The soft curves…the…touch?”

 

As he spoke, he trailed his hand slowly up her arm, then to her shoulder, raising trembling fingertips to whisper across her cheek in just the very softest of touches. Willow drew in her breath slightly, but made no move to pull away, as his fingers trailed slowly back down the front of her neck.

 

A pleasant little shiver ran through her, from her scalp all the way down her back. Suddenly immeasurably confused by the conflicting thoughts and feelings she felt, both for Spike and for the strange girl she had met the night before, Willow drew back sharply, rising to her feet and backing away with as stern an expression as she could muster on her face.

 

“Stop it!” she snapped, her voice shaking slightly as she moved away from the cage and sat back down at her desk, muttering under her breath, “You’re such a…*guy*!”

 

Spike frowned, reaching weakly after her as she moved away, but unable to do anything to make her stay…unable to really move much at all, due to the pain in his stomach, which was gradually beginning to intensify again. He grimaced against a fresh wave of it, fighting it back, waiting for it to subside slightly to try again to gain Willow’s attention.

 

She was writing in her notebook again, doing her best to pretend he was not there, when she heard Spike’s quiet words, all too clear in the silence that had fallen between them.

 

“What’s this grudge you’ve got against all men, pet? Got anything to do with your wolf?”

 

Willow froze, her pen stilled in the middle of a letter, and her jaw locked in anger that she tried to control for a few moments…before giving up completely and dropping the pen angrily onto the desk, rising to her feet and spinning around to face the blond vampire, looking up at her with knowing expectancy.

 

“Anything?” she echoed in a voice that trembled with furious accusation, though she knew it was not really aimed at Spike. “Anything? Try *everything*! If I have a grudge, I think I have a right to!” she declared defiantly, her hands balled into furious fists at her sides. “He cheated on me and left me! And he blamed it on the wolf, like some…some cooler version of the excuse of needing to go *find* himself or something…but you know what? It wasn’t the wolf that was the problem…just like your problem isn’t that you’re an evil vampire who’s trying to confuse me and make me feel sympathy for you!”

 

Willow took a deep breath, glaring at Spike as she geared up for the rest of her rant, her thoughts coming together and spilling out of her mouth at the exact same moment. “No, your problem…both of you…is that you’re *men*! And that’s just what men do! They cheat and then leave you behind, and they…they flirt with you and try to make you think they like you when they really just want you to let them out of the cage, or…or they sleep with you and then ignore you the next day, like Poophead Parker…”

 

Spike frowned in confusion, shaking his head slightly as he struggled to follow her rambling words. “Who’s…?”

 

“…they just…just lie, and cheat, and manipulate to get whatever it is they happen to want from you at the moment, and then as soon as they get it, they’re gone, and I’m sick and tired of it!”

 

“Well, love, hate to break it to you,” Spike sighed wearily, leaning his head against the bars as the pain began to increase again, “but that’s not men. That’s people. If you’re thinking of batting for the other team in order to play it safe, I’m afraid you’re gonna be bloody disappointed when you find they’ve got the same problems on the other side of the line.”

 

“No batting!” Willow insisted, her eyes wide with panic. “There’s been no batting!”

 

But Spike was no longer focused on her. He had doubled over in agony, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. As she watched with rising dismay, her anger fading away in the face of his suffering, another spasm of pain struck him, and Spike bit back a cry of anguish, struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

 

Willow’s expression softened, relenting, and she moved away from her chair again with a sigh, moving to the side of the cage and kneeling once more. Spike’s hand closed around one of the bars, his clenched fist trembling as the fiery agony racked his body. Willow bit her lower lip, a worried frown creasing her brow as she reached out a cautious hand to rest on his, her thumb brushing slowly back and forth in a soothing motion across his clenched knuckles.

 

After a few moments, the latest wave of agony seemed to pass, and Spike gasped for breath in its wake as he tried to recover. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, his voice a bit slurred and disoriented. “I…I’m fine, pet…I’ll be…just fine…”

 

Willow was not in the least convinced, but if Spike wanted to pretend that he was all right, to go on as if everything was normal, she was willing to go along with the game.

 

“No batting,” she sighed, once the sounds of his pain had vanished and his breathing seemed to have evened out somewhat. “At least…not yet. It’s only been…I mean…for *either* team…I’m just not ready yet.”

 

Spike studied her face through hazy, bloodshot eyes, before nodding his silent acceptance of her explanation.

 

Willow hesitated a moment, unsure how much she wanted to share with this vampire who had once been her enemy, once even kidnapped her and threatened her life. But then, Spike seemed a far different creature now than he had been then, and she found herself moved with compassion toward him, wanting to do something…anything…to ease his pain.

 

Even if she could do nothing more than to provide a temporary distraction from it.

 

“I don’t know, Spike,” she sighed, not letting go of his hand, even though the worst of his pain seemed to have passed for the moment. “Maybe you can help me understand this. It’s just…it seems like every guy is just waiting for something better to come along than whoever he’s got. Like, when it comes to me…they might settle for me for a while, but then…someone comes along that…that outshines mousy little bookworm Rosenberg, and…”

 

She shook her head, her voice trailing off in another sigh. “I think I’ve come to the conclusion that all men will always want more, always just *want*…no matter who the girl is they’ve got. It’s not about being in love or being faithful. It’s just about what they want.”

 

Spike was quiet, and Willow looked at him, a question in her sad green eyes. He was smiling, a soft, secretive smile.

 

“I was faithful to Drusilla. For a hundred years. A bleedin’ century, and I never took another woman to my bed.” Spike paused, considering with a little shrug before amending, “’Less of course Dru wanted her there, too.”

 

Willow shot him a dark look, a single brow raised, but said nothing, just watched him silently, studying his expression as if to gauge his sincerity. They were face to face at this point, only the bars of his cell between them.

 

“Yeah, well,” she finally concluded, “you’re the exception, Spike. But just because *you’ve* never wanted someone else doesn’t mean that every other guy…”

 

“Who said anything about never *wanting* anyone else?” Spike broke in pointedly. “Is that what you think it means to be faithful, pet? Never wanting? I’ve lived more than a century, Red, and you’d better bloody believe that I’ve wanted. I’ve craved and yearned for other women…the way they danced, or the way they might have felt in my arms…imaginin’ the sounds they might have made.” Spike paused, a nearly silent laugh slipping from his lips as he shook his head in a sort of nostalgic amusement. “Bloody hell, maybe just the way they might have made more sense during those morning conversations before bed.”

 

Willow allowed a small smile to form on her lips, her eyes narrowing pensively as Spike went on.

 

“’S not about that. It’s about knowin’ and believin’ that what you have is worth a thousand of those spur of the moment cravings. It’s about choices…an’ I always chose her.”

 

When Spike fell silent, Willow looked up at him again, a concerned frown on her face when she saw that Spike was staring toward the back of his cell, a look of distant, remembered hurt that went far beyond his physical suffering marking his fine features.

 

“But the moment Angelus showed up again,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, “that’s when she decided her craving was a little more important than what we had.”

 

Willow tried to fight back the tightening of her throat, the burning of tears behind her eyes, but Spike’s pain was too obvious to be ignored. She did not hesitate, reaching through the bars to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. He froze for an instant, but did not pull away, so she let her hand fall slightly, rubbing soothing circles between his taut shoulder blades.

 

“Spike,” she began cautiously, debating as to what she should say to him. “Are you…?”

 

But whatever certainly inadequate words of comfort she might have offered him were swept away in the next moment, when Spike suddenly lurched violently forward, doubling over so that his back was no longer within her reach, clutching his stomach with a deep gasp of agony.

 

And the next moment, the small amount of blood the scientists had allowed him had been violently vomited up again, sending terrifying spatters of bright red flying across the floor of the cage.


	19. Chapter 19

A single word echoed in Willow’s mind with disturbing clarity as she watched the soldiers dragging a semi-conscious and badly weakened Spike away from the cell in which he had been imprisoned for the past few hours.

 

*Surgery*.

 

Walsh had come to the cell unexpectedly, though fortunately Willow had heard her coming down the hall and swiftly separated herself from the suffering vampire, so that by the time the commander opened the door and entered the room, she was back at her desk, her head bent studiously over her notebook as she dutifully wrote down her observations about Spike’s condition.

 

When Walsh had announced that the hostile was being taken to the main laboratory for an unspecified surgical procedure, however, Willow’s stomach had dropped, and she had stared at the scientist for a long, horrified moment. She knew that if she showed too much concern or dismay over Spike’s fate, she risked giving away her position in the situation.

 

However, she was starting to wonder if that mattered anymore.

 

*You’re one of the good guys,* she reminded herself with disgusted accusation. *When are you going to start acting like it, and doing what the good guys do? It shouldn’t matter if it’s risky; you should do something! How much longer are you just gonna sit around and watch this happen without doing anything to stop it?*

 

Her jaw set with determination as she started after the men, determined to find out just what they intended to do with Spike. That determination faded into fear as Walsh caught her arm from behind and spun the girl around, a suspicious glare on her face.

 

“Your notes, Miss Rosenberg?” she demanded in a terse voice, a single brow raised in a challenge.

 

“Oh…um…”

 

Willow hated herself for the stammer in her voice, for the intimidation this woman made her feel, struggling to find the courage to stand up to her and speak out against the atrocities taking place under her regime. She opened her mouth to speak…and said nothing. Instead she turned back toward her desk and picked up the notebook, holding it out to Walsh, her eyes averted self-consciously.

 

“Here they are.”

 

As Walsh took the notebook from her hands and opened it, Willow glanced fretfully after the three distant forms making their way down the hall toward the laboratory. She swallowed hard to dampen her dry throat before managing to ask in a hesitant, uncertain voice,

 

“What…what sort of surgical procedure are they going to…?”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Walsh cut her off with a cool smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.” She paused for effect before explaining, “The next time this particular procedure is done, you’ll be observing.”

 

************************************

 

Spike fought off panic as he was dragged roughly down the hallway between the two soldiers, struggling weakly though he knew he was no match for their strength, not in his current condition. He couldn’t help fighting, although he couldn’t win; he knew wherever they were taking him, it couldn’t be for any pleasant purpose.

 

The burning in his throat had returned with a vengeance, spreading higher to fill his nostrils, numbing his sense of smell until all he was aware of was the agony of the searing poison fumes working their way through his body. The loss of his most vital sense drove the vampire into a further panic, breathing deeply in an attempt to smell something, anything, even the vile antiseptic smell that permeated this place…or the last faint vestiges of Willow’s perfume.

 

Nothing.

 

A vampire without his sense of smell was like a blind man, helpless and unlikely to survive. Instinctive terror overwhelmed Spike as he struggled to breathe, gasping in a desperate attempt to regain the power of scent, still fighting frantically to free his arms from the men who held him.

 

Irritated, though not in the least hindered by his pitiful efforts at escape, the men stopped in the hall, and one of them grabbed Spike by the throat, slamming him hard against the wall with inhuman strength. Spike’s hands flew upward to clutch frantically at the strong hand gripping his throat, but the soldier only squeezed harder, cutting off his breath, leaning into his face with a cold, malicious smile.

 

“Stop it,” the man ordered coldly, tightening his hold when, in his panic, Spike ignored the command. “Keep still.”

 

Spike often tended to forget that he no longer needed oxygen, and being deprived of it now only served to heighten his panic, but the threat in the man’s voice and increasingly cruel hand was clear, and he knew he would not be able to overpower his captors. The vampire froze, releasing the man’s hand and holding his hands back against the wall in a gesture of submission, choking for breath that was not allowed him.

 

“You’re not human,” the soldier reminded him in a quiet, hateful voice, his eyes narrowed with disgust as he gave the vampire’s naked form a contemptuous look up and down. “You’re not going to fool us into thinking you are. You don’t need to breathe, and you can’t be choked to death, so give up the act, Seventeen.” The soldier was quiet for a moment, increasing his hold as Spike trembled within his grasp, struggling to keep a rein on his own fear. “If you don’t,” the soldier finished with a sadistic leer, “I might just have to give you something to *really* choke on.”

 

Spike turned his head away in revulsion, but did not move, and with an immense effort of will, forced himself to stop his frantic attempts to breathe. Satisfied, the soldier released him, and Spike collapsed forward onto his knees, once again gasping for breath in an instinctive reaction that was really beyond his control.

 

“Stupid animal,” the soldier muttered angrily behind him, assuming that he had been tricked. His training had made it clear that vampires did not need to breathe; therefore this one was simply goading him, deliberately defying him in an attempt to mock his authority.

 

“This oughta shut you up,” the soldier snarled, lifting his heavy iron baton and bringing it down sharply across the back of the vampire’s skull.

 

Spike collapsed to the floor, as everything around him went black.

 

***********************************

 

“If Willow does not return soon, we may need to set out after her, Buffy.”

 

The Watcher’s voice was strained with worry and frustration as he slowly paced the floor of his apartment, surrounded by the Slayer and her friends, none of whom had moved since Willow had left the apartment a couple of hours earlier. They had gone over and over what little information Willow had provided them before leaving, but they seemed to be going in circles, not making any actual progress toward a decision.

 

Of course, it would have been easier to come to a decision, had Willow actually told them anything specific.

 

“I’m afraid she may have gotten herself in over her head with this situation,” Giles went on, frowning with concern. “If this Initiative is truly a faction of the United States government, well…she could be putting herself in grave danger by attempting to oppose them.”

 

“But they wouldn’t actually *hurt* her, would they?” Xander spoke up anxiously. “I mean…they’re the good guys, right? And…this is America. They’re not gonna kill her just for speaking out against them, are they?”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened at the thought of her friend in mortal danger, not at the hands of the demon foes she fought every night, but at the hands of human soldiers. She swallowed hard, her mind drifting to Riley; the young man seemed so honest and genuine, but if he was a part of this secret organization, and they were as bad as Willow seemed to believe that they were…

 

“We have no way of knowing what level of secrecy this…government operation is attempting to keep…what their goals might be, or who knows about it,” Giles pointed out. “If Willow poses a threat to their classified information, they might very well harm her, in the interest of…well, national security.”

 

“Do you think she’s right?” Buffy asked, her voice low and trembling slightly as she turned wide eyes toward her Watcher. “Do you think they’re…evil?”

 

“How can they be evil?” Xander argued, shaking his head in confusion. “They’re taking out the bad guys, Buffy. They’re killing and capturing demons and vampires. How can that be a *bad* thing? *Ow*!” he yelped as Anya’s elbow found his ribs. He looked at her in surprise to find her glaring back at him resentfully. “Okay, so…torture, bad, yes…but do we really know what’s going on there? Maybe it’s not as bad as Willow thinks.”

 

“No, I can’t possibly think of a way in which mere mortals attempting to harness and control forces beyond their comprehension could possibly turn out badly,” Giles replied flatly, his contempt for the boy’s simple thinking barely veiled in his quietly foreboding voice. “If what Willow says is true, at the very least, these soldiers and scientists are likely ill-prepared to deal with the creatures they’re trying to study. They could end up unleashing a greater danger on the populace than already exists.”

 

“But if they’re *trying* to do good,” Buffy persisted, unable to keep the hopeful note from her voice, “then…then they’re not really evil, right? I mean, it might be a mistake, what they’re doing…but they’re not *bad*…are they?”

 

“We really have no way of knowing that,” Giles sighed. “Not until we speak further with Willow. Once she returns, hopefully, we’ll be able to gather further insight into the goals and activities of this Initiative.”

 

***********************************

 

The searing pain that seemed to suffuse his entire body drew Spike unwillingly back to consciousness, and he opened his eyes, only to squint them shut against the blinding white light that greeted them. He tried to raise his hands, to sit up, but found that he could not move at all.

 

Fighting back panic at that realization, he tried again to open his eyes, wincing against the painful light that surrounded him, blinking as his eyes gradually adjusted, and he raised his head weakly to better take in his situation.

 

He was strapped down to an operating table, his wrists and ankles bound individually, with wider leather straps at his knees, waist, and shoulders, securing him to the table and allowing him little to no freedom of movement whatsoever.

 

“Wha…what…?” he mumbled, his eyes widening as he took in the group of young lab techs surrounding him.

 

Most of them were holding clipboards and pens, occasionally glancing at him with the sort of impassive, indifferent curiosity with which one might view an unusual breed of insect. Walsh was standing to the side of the bed, her arms folded across her chest as her cold gaze shifted between Spike and the students observing him.

 

Spike struggled against his bonds, glaring up at her defiantly, even as a sense of despair began to come over him when he realized there was no way he was going to be able to break free. He glanced apprehensively at the lab techs, a sick feeling overwhelming him with the realization that there was not a note of compassion in their eyes as they stared at him. He was just another experimental dead animal to them – an inanimate thing worthless for anything beyond their cold and clinical experiments.

 

“We’ve exposed this particular specimen to a new substance in the past twenty-four hours,” Walsh explained to her students as she paced slowly back and forth along the length of the surgical table. “We’ve tested the effects of various drugs over the past few days, but this is the first actual poison we’ve introduced to his system. Pure liquid ammonia – fatal in minutes to a human being. Yet, as you can see, this specimen is still alive…in a manner of speaking.”

 

Spike flinched involuntarily as she touched his shoulder, jerking away from her, and a few of the lab techs involuntarily stepped back, startled by his sudden motion.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” Walsh advised them with a smile, before turning her eyes deliberately to meet Spike’s. “It’s quite helpless.” She continued without taking her eyes from Spike’s, a sadistic pleasure in her gaze as she watched him closely for his reactions. “We’ve already observed the symptoms of pain, weakness, and vomiting as a result of the ammonia. Now, we’re going to examine the actual body tissues for any visible changes or effects.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened with horror as his muddled mind registered what she was saying.

 

“Wait,” he rasped out in a hoarse whisper. “Please…”

 

Before he could get another word out, Walsh had taken a clean white cloth from the supply table beside her and stuffed it into his mouth, holding it there while she took a leather strap attached to the table and fastened it tightly across his mouth, holding the gag in place.

 

Spike struggled uselessly as she picked up a scalpel from the tray, holding it deliberately within his view for a moment before lowering it toward his vulnerable, exposed body.

 

A brief sensation of cold metal against his flesh preceded a sharp stab of agony in his chest, as Walsh brought the blade slowly down the center of his sternum, and his flesh was shoved aside like so much useless meat. As the scalpel began to slice into his internal organs with cruel, methodical efficiency, Spike let out a strangled, desperate moan of agony, before allowing himself to slip into darkness again, drawn by the terrible pain inflicted upon him, Walsh’s cool, dispassionate voice echoing in his ears as he drifted away.

 

“The throat and esophagus seem to suffer from severe chemical burns…”


	20. Chapter 20

Buffy sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the floor beneath her boyfriend’s feet.

 

Said boyfriend sat on Willow’s bed, his own eyes averted as well.

 

Neither said a word for what felt like a *very* long time.

 

“Somebody should speak before one of us graduates.”

 

Buffy’s words were accompanied by an expectant stare, as she watched the young man closely, waiting for his response. She was unusually quiet, her mind racing with dozens of confusing, contradictory thoughts.

 

It was all that she could do at Giles’ house to keep quiet about the things she had seen during the fight with the Gentlemen, the first clues as to Riley’s involvement with the strange commandoes she had been seeing around campus. Willow’s words had shocked her, and filled her with an unsettled, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she realized the extent of the commandoes’ activities…and came face to face with the frightening reality that Riley was one of them.

 

She had thought better of revealing what she had already seen to her friends, though she really couldn’t explain why. She had simply kept her mouth shut while Willow told her story…just as she was keeping her mouth shut now, not revealing how much she already knew as she waited for her boyfriend’s explanation.

 

Riley stood up with a sigh of frustrated confusion, pacing a few steps before turning to face her again, shaking his head in incredulity. “What *are* you?”

 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, but she managed to suppress her irritation as she shot back flatly, “Capricorn on the cusp of Aquarius…you?”

 

Riley visibly relented a bit, his shoulders sagging slightly as he sighed again. “Sorry. That came out a little blunter than I intended. It’s just…you are amazing! Your speed, your strength…”

 

“Also passionate, artistic, and inquisitive,” Buffy reminded him, irritated by the way he was suddenly looking at her as if she was some kind of sideshow freak, and speaking with the excited curiosity of a little boy who had just discovered some rare and interesting new type of insect. She hesitated a moment before asking with bewilderment, “Who *are* you?”

 

The look on Riley’s face told her that her words stung. “You know who I am. The rest…what I do…” He hesitated, shaking his head. “…I can’t tell you.”

 

Buffy’s mind raced with the things Willow had told her, and after a moment, she decided to take a chance. Remembering as many of the details of Willow’s story as she could, she began, “Well, then let me. You’re part of some military monster squad that captures demons, vampires…probably have some official sounding euphemisms for them, like…unfriendlies…non-sapiens…”

 

Riley raised a single brow, clearly taken aback by her knowledge – knowledge she should not have had. “Hostile subterrestrials,” he corrected quietly.

 

“So, you deliver these…HSTs to a bunch of lab coats, who perform experiments on them, which, among other things, turn some into harmless little bunnies.” Buffy paused, watching Riley closely to gauge his reactions to her words. Her heart sank as she read the startled recognition in his eyes, and realized that everything Willow had told her was true. “How am I doing so far?”

 

“A little *too* well,” Riley admitted, confirming her conclusions.

 

Buffy rose to her feet, struggling against a rising sense of anger and betrayal at all the things Riley had kept from her. “Meanwhile, by day you pretend to be Riley Finn, corn-fed Iowa boy. Ever been to Iowa, Riley? God, if that’s even…”

 

“My supervisor wants to meet you, Buffy.”

 

“*Excuse* me?”

 

The slayer’s tone was incredulous, almost dangerous, as she took a step nearer to the soldier, unable to believe that he had the nerve to interrupt her rant, and especially to suggest something like that.

 

“She’s heard…well, okay, I’ve told her…some incredible things about you. Last night…you *were* incredible, Buffy. And she wants to meet you. She thinks…maybe…you could go far in our organization.” Riley paused, moving toward her, his voice quiet and earnest. “We could work together on this one, Buffy. We’re both on the same team here.”

 

“And what ‘team’ would that be exactly?” Buffy’ voice was flat, uncertain, as she searched her boyfriend’s eyes for some sign of his intentions.

 

“The good guys.” Riley’s eager smile was honest and genuine. “Come on, Buffy. What could it hurt? Just talk to her. Please?”

 

Buffy hesitated a few moments, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her.

 

After all, what was the worst that could happen? She had yet to face a demon foe that could defeat her – and Walsh was merely a human woman.

 

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “I’ll talk to her.”

 

*********************************

 

Spike awakened abruptly in the eerie silence of the observation room in which he had been left several times before.

 

As his eyes gradually adjusted to the almost painful brightness of the white light that surrounded him, he became aware of something else as well…something that seemed to be a good thing, which gave him a strange, sick feeling of foreboding, as though it should be troubling, but he could not quite remember why.

 

He could not quite remember much of anything, actually.

 

But he was *clothed*.

 

It was nothing more than a cheap set of loose-fitting grey sweats…but he wasn’t naked, and that was something at least. He ran his hands over the coarse, grey fabric, just allowing himself to adjust to the idea of being covered, after so long enduring the humiliation of forced nudity. He tried to remember when he had been given the clothing, but he couldn’t remember getting it…couldn’t remember putting it on…

 

Had they dressed him while he was unconscious? Had he dressed himself and forgotten? Surely he would not have forgotten, not something he had been wanting for as long as he had been wanting this…

 

He tried to remember what had happened, how he had come to be back in this cell, dressed, but his mind was clouded. He was most likely drugged again. His heart sank slightly at that thought, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished they would just leave him alone for a bit, stop playing their sadistic games with his mind and body and just let him *be*…but he knew better than to hope for that.

 

He tried to fight through the haze that muddled his memory, blocking out great gaping chunks of the past few days, desperate to remember what had happened…what they had done to him. A flash of memory filled his mind for just a fraction of an instant, before a sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He felt himself break out in a cold sweat, tremors shaking his body as he fought back the urge to vomit.

 

An ominous sense of dread came over him, as his instincts warned him away from the buried mental images of his last encounter with his captors.

 

_Don’t go there, mate…you don’t wanna think about that…don’t wanna remember…_

 

Anxious and restless, he began to pace the room…which was fortunately much larger than the cell in which he was usually imprisoned. He wasn’t sure whether it was the effects of the strange drugs coursing through his system or simply a subconscious coping mechanism, but he could not seem to keep still. He had to stay busy, had to keep moving, because if he didn’t…the moment he stopped…

 

…he would have to think about the slowly resurfacing memories, drifting now about the edges of his thoughts, threatening to make themselves real in his mind again.

 

  
_Wasn’t real,_ he assured himself. _Nothing happened…just a bad dream…that’s all…_  


 

The sweet, soft scent of strawberries drifted to his nostrils from beyond the locked door, and he edged nearer to it, scenting the air. It was unmistakably Willow’s perfume, and it provided a welcome distraction from his increasingly troubled thoughts. He could just barely catch the fragrance through the heavy door, but it was there, lingering, just outside the door…and he knew.

 

Willow was there.

 

************************************

 

Walsh had done her best to keep Willow busy ever since she had returned to the lab. The redhead became increasingly agitated throughout the course of what became an endless day of analyzing blood samples and recording her observations, when all she really wanted to do was to find Spike.

 

He was not in his cell.

 

She had no idea where they had taken him, what had been done to him, and she couldn’t seem to stop worrying about him the entire time she worked on the dozens of blood samples Walsh had left her.

 

She had been momentarily distracted from her fears – but only by new fears – when she came across a sample that was recorded as having been taken from a subject “of human appearance”. Her testing had revealed that the male subject was actually half-demon of some sort, though further testing would be required to determine just what type of demon.

 

Somehow, the knowledge that he was not fully human did not make her feel any better, or ease her guilt when she reported her findings to an eager and very impressed Professor Walsh. The woman had congratulated her on her hard work…and rewarded her with more hard work.

 

She made several trips back and forth throughout the course of the day, delivering her reports to Walsh and collecting more samples for analysis...and every time she had passed Spike’s empty cell, her heart felt more weighted with fear for his fate. The last time she had seen him, he was being dragged away by soldiers who were being none too gentle with the already-suffering vampire, and she had no way of knowing what Walsh had ordered for the defiant prisoner.

 

Her work finally completed, Willow stopped outside the door to one of the large observation rooms. She had passed it several times during the day, but now she leaned her back against it, her eyes closed as she drew in a deep, weary breath. She was finished for the day, and a part of her – the utterly exhausted part of her – wanted to just go home and crawl into bed.

 

But the better part of her knew that she couldn’t…not until she knew that Spike was okay.

 

_But how can I know that he’s okay…if I can’t even figure out where he is?_

 

**********************************

 

Spike leaned forward against the other side of the observation room door, breathing in the faint, barely-there scent of Willow’s perfume with near desperation to hold onto it. He knew that he probably would not have been able to pick up on it had he not already been thinking about her, missing her, wondering when she would next come to check on him…if she even knew where he was at this point.

 

He pressed his hand against the door and closed his eyes, picturing her in his mind, allowing the image of her flashing angry green eyes, the indignant set of her mouth in innocent outrage at his crude flirtations earlier, to fill his thoughts and push the other, darker thoughts – the ones he couldn’t quite allow himself to think – out of his mind.

 

An odd warmth filled him at the thought of the quiet but strong little redhead…and just a hint of affection that was more disturbing to him than anything he had been through in this place.

 

  
_Still evil,_ he assured himself. _They haven’t broken you *that* far yet. Not goin’ soft…not over Red...No, don’t care about her…not like that…just…just it’d be fun to play with her’s all…_  


 

Spike tried to turn his thoughts away from the softness of her voice and touch, the silken shine of her hair and the innocent concern in her eyes, to the things he would do to torment her if he could regain his freedom. Of course, the chip was in his head now, so any form of physical torment was out of the question – and _only_ because of the chip, mind you! – but that did not mean that there weren’t other things Spike could do to the adorable little redhead.

 

_Maybe I couldn’t hurt her…but I could make her stutter…make her blush so deep her face’d match that fiery hair of hers…could make her feel things she’s never dreamed of feeling…_

 

He breathed deeply of the faint scent he could still make out from beyond the door, his unnecessary breath quickening when he realized that she was still there. He was not smelling the trace remnants of scent from her simply passing by the door. She was out there, outside the observation room, just outside his reach.

 

He edged nearer to the door, anxious to somehow get to her…and then froze when he felt a strange shifting motion in the clothing he was wearing, like something moving in a pocket. He reached down, patting the sides of the plain drawstring pants he wore. Inside the left pocket, he found something smooth and thin and flat, and his eyes widened in surprise as he pulled it out.

 

It was one of the key cards he had seen the soldiers and doctors using to enter and leave the various rooms of the compound…including the cells.

 

Including… _this_ cell.

 

He stepped back from the door a bit, staring down at the card, turning it over and over between his fingers. He tried to remember how it had gotten into his pocket, but when his thoughts turned to the blurry events of the past few hours, he once again felt a wave of nausea flow through his body, and he threw out a hand to brace against the door, struggling to hold himself up as he closed his eyes, shaking his head to block out…whatever had happened.

 

With an effort, he shut out the swirling questions in his mind, opening his eyes and focusing his attention on the card again. He could not remember taking it, but knew that he must have at some point. It was the only explanation. He looked up at the door, and his throat went dry as he pictured himself sliding the key through the lock, opening the door and stepping out into the unforgiving brightness of the corridor.

 

The thought of doing so made his insides quiver with a sudden fear, and Spike wondered yet again what had happened…what they had done to him…to make the thought of leaving the contained room so frightening to him. Here he was, holding the chance to escape in his hand…and he was afraid to use it.

 

But he _had_ it.

 

And when the chance came…when he knew that it was safe to do so…he would use it.

 

Except…Willow was _right there_ …just outside the door.

 

_She might help me…but…but she’s technically one of them…What if she just calls the guards, just gets me in more soddin’ trouble? Maybe I should wait…wait ’til no one’s around…but…but if I could see her…for a few minutes…just a few minutes with another *person*…with Willow…_

 

Finally, Spike’s loneliness and confusion won out, as the desire to see Willow – to talk to her, to find some relief from the torment of the swirling, half-formed thoughts that filled his mind – won out.

 

A slow, wicked smile began to form on Spike’s lips as he raised the card with a hand that was only slightly shaking, and slid it slowly through the lock.


	21. Chapter 21

Willow let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the cell door behind her, lowering her head momentarily into her hands as she tried to figure out what she should do. It had been a long time since she had seen or heard any sign of Spike, and she was beginning to lose hope that the vampire had survived whatever Walsh’s latest test for him might have been.

 

_You let him down…_

 

She tried to push the accusing thoughts from her mind, but found that she lacked the strength – and desire, for that matter – to do so. Because after all…those thoughts were true.

 

_He came to you for help…begged you to help him…and you let him down…_

 

Willow felt the prickling sensation of tears at the backs of her eyes, and bravely fought them back, glancing up self-consciously toward the ceiling, scanning it for surveillance equipment. Certainly there was no part of the Initiative where Walsh did not have some sort of cameras or recording devices to monitor the activities of her employees.

 

She made a conscious effort to control her emotions, aware that any display of tears would not escape the notice of the Initiative commander, who at this point was surely watching her much more closely than she would have liked. Still, she couldn’t quite stop thinking about Spike, and the condition he had been in when last she had seen him.

 

_He’s probably dust by now…they wouldn’t take a chance by letting him live, not if they think for a second that there’s any…any connection between…_

 

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off as the door behind her suddenly opened inward, and she found herself tumbling backward into the cell with a rather undignified little squeal of surprise and alarm. Her heart pounded with terror as a strong, unnaturally cold arm wrapped around her, pulling her back against a firm, male chest and pinning her arms to her sides, cool fingers tracing shivers along the side of her neck.

 

“Listen here, missy,” her captor – clearly a vampire prisoner who had somehow found a way to make his escape – whispered in her ear, in what seemed to be a very strange accent. Willow could not quite have placed it, even had she not been driven nearly out of her senses with fear. “I’m walking out of here, see? And you…you’re going to do every little thing I say until I do…aren’t you?”

 

Willow nodded hurriedly, unable to repress the little whimper that rose in her throat, her heart pounding with terror as she tried to think of a way to get out of this situation alive.

 

The accent changed completely, from something vaguely resembling a southern American accent to a British one, and the voice became familiar and warm and teasing. “All right, then…now lift up that shirt and give us a peek.”

 

Willow’s eyes went wide with stunned indignation. “ _What_?”

 

Her captor released her with an uncontrolled giggle of amusement that was more than a little alarming, and she turned to see Spike stumbling backward behind her, watching gleefully as she glared at him, furious.

 

“Spike! You scared me to death, with the…the jumping out and grabbing me, and the accent…and what’s up with that accent? What is that supposed to be, anyway, because it doesn’t sound American at all, really. And let’s not even get _into_ …”

 

Willow’s eyes widened again when her rant was abruptly cut off by a mouthful of vampire, as Spike swept forward and kissed her soundly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight enough to lift her right off the ground. Stunned, Willow did not react for a moment…and then, against her better judgment, she found herself responding to the intensity of his kiss, returning it.

 

  
_This is a bad idea,_ her inner voice of reason, usually the loudest of her inner voices, warned her. _Bad, bad, vampire kissage…_  


 

But she was so relieved to see him, so grateful to find him alive and undusty, that she really couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back, her hands finding his waist despite the firm embrace in which he held her, pulling him closer.

 

_That’s right…it’s just relief…that’s why I’m kissing him. Couldn’t possibly be…any other reason…_

 

When Spike finally set her back down, it was almost with a sense of reluctance that she lowered her hands to her sides again, one hand rising to touch her mouth, numb and pleasantly tingling from the kiss.

 

“Sorry, love. Couldn’t help it,” Spike explained with an unrepentant shrug. “Evil and all.”

 

“Yeah,” Willow managed to regain enough composure to reply, though her voice was more than a bit breathless. “Kinda noticed.”

 

But the words were spoken without a trace of her former anger, and the glare she had aimed at him earlier had vanished. She gave him an assessing look, taking in the visible changes since the last time she had seen him.

 

“Wow. They gave you some…pants. Which…pants are good. And, hey, a shirt, even, so…not so much with the naked. Which is…also good. I mean, not that it was bad or anything…I mean, I guess it was bad for _you_ , but…not…I’m just going to stop talking now…”

 

Cursing her inevitable fallback into nervous rambling, Willow gave up. Spike was already grinning at her wickedly, his eyes sparkling with pleased pride.

 

*******************************

 

Spike felt his spirits lift at the very sight of the flustered little redhead, enjoying the rush of relief and pleasure he felt just to be in her company again. It seemed as if it had been so long since he had any kind of friendly human contact that he could not resist the impulse to take her into his arms and kiss her soundly.

 

And apparently…she had not been all that opposed to the idea.

 

“Admiring a bit, were we? Well, I’m not so bloody thrilled with the new threads, anyway. If you’d like, I could…”

 

His words cut off abruptly as a sudden wave of nausea came over him at the very thought of taking off his clothes. For some reason, the idea made him break out in a cold sweat, his hands trembling as his stomach clenched with a sense of unexplained dread.

 

“No!” Willow quickly spoke up, her voice nervous and trembling, not seeming to notice Spike’s reaction in her discomfort. “No, no, the clothes are…are fine, really. And…and better on, definitely. Let’s…leave them on…”

 

Spike fought back the sense of nausea he was feeling, some deep-seated dread warning him to quickly avert his thoughts, before they went down a terrible path which he did not want to examine too closely. Alarm bells sounding in the back of his mind, he found himself desperately seeking a diversion…and fortunately, one was very close at hand.

 

He shifted his focus, moving in closer to Willow again. He heard her heartbeat accelerate as he swiftly closed the distance between them; and though she was backing away, into the wall behind her, Spike’s senses told him that she was not exactly afraid. He leaned in close to her, breathing in her scent, his nose just barely brushing against the soft skin of her throat.

 

Willow froze, her breath catching in her throat at the feather-light contact. “Spike…”

 

But whatever protest she had intended to voice never came, as his lips gently worshipped her neck, caressing softly up the smooth, pale column to her ear. He felt a sense of triumphant satisfaction when her heart literally skipped a beat as he leaned in close to utter a low, rumbling whisper in her ear.

 

“Do you taste as good as you smell, little Red? ’ve been wonderin’ that…”

 

********************************

 

Willow swallowed hard, though her throat was dry with mingled fear and anticipation as the vampire glided toward her. She could not have told in that moment which emotion was stronger. Her voice was hoarse and low, and barely trembling, as she whispered, “Thinking of eating me?”

 

Spike smiled, and Willow could feel the smile against her throat. His cool breath against her skin sent a little tingle from the spot where his lips brushed her throat to her scalp, as she felt one of his hands come to rest low on her hip.

 

“In a manner of speaking…yeah…I am…”

 

Willow froze, torn between excitement and desire for him to fulfill the bold suggestion in his words…and fear that he would attempt to do so.

 

*****************************

 

Spike heard the slight quickening of her heartbeat, saw the blush creeping up her neck, and knew that she was on the verge of flight. He stepped back just slightly, slowing the pace of his advances as he brushed his lips affectionately against her ear. His hand left her hip, rising to trail gently through the ends of her hair.

 

He wanted her…he did…had for a while, in fact. But this was about something else…something he needed…something he needed to escape…to _forget_. He had to keep her attention, had to keep his own focused on this impromptu encounter…because if he didn’t…if he let his mind wander…

 

“Don’t be frightened, love,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t hurt you…couldn’t....just wanna…taste…” When Willow did not object or try to move away, he continued softly, “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, these past few weeks…you and me…the way things could be…”

 

“Spike…Spike, wait…”

 

Willow’s whispered words, the hesitance in her voice, made the sick sense of uneasy alarm in the pit of Spike’s stomach grow stronger, as he sensed that his distraction was about to disappear.

 

“Can’t wait,” he muttered against her throat, nuzzling her soft skin earnestly. “Can’t, love…want you…”

 

“ _Spike_.” Her voice was firm, and she gently pushed him back, her searching emerald eyes focused on his in a concerned question. “Spike…you’re shaking.”

 

******************************

 

Willow saw the brief flash of fear, the trapped expression in Spike’s eyes at her words, before he leaned in for another kiss, this time capturing her lips with his own. It was difficult for her to make herself pull away from the temptation he was offering, but that brief fear she had seen on his face was enough motivation for her to gently grip his arm and try to push him back.

 

“Spike…what’s wrong? Wait a second and talk to me…”

 

Spike only pulled her close to him again, his kiss almost fierce as he did his best to silence her. She kissed him back for a moment, nearly losing herself in the tantalizing taste of his mouth, the expert way his hands moved over her body, before firmly, deliberately forcing herself to push him back again.

 

“Spike…Spike, stop it…”

 

“Can’t,” he muttered. “Gotta…need to…”

 

“ _No_.” Willow decided to make her position as clear as she possibly could, stating her refusal firmly and pushing both hands against his chest, shoving him away from her with all the strength she could muster. “Spike, stop it, _now_.”

 

To her surprise, her relatively weak human push sent the vampire stumbling backward to the ground, clutching at his chest with a cry of pain. Spike stared up into Willow’s shocked eyes, a question in his own as he tilted his head slightly. His hand pressed against his shirt, barely covering a slowly spreading red stain that was beginning to soak it, but not seeming to be consciously aware of the wound at the moment.

 

“Red…I didn’t mean to…I mean…I wouldn’t have…”

 

Willow crouched beside him, shaking her head in dismissal of his attempt at apology. She knew very well that Spike would not have forced her to do anything she did not want to do. She knew that there had been an ulterior motive behind his advances, even if Spike himself did not fully understand what it was. He was shaking violently now, and the red stain had spread now to cover nearly the entire front of his shirt.

 

Something was terribly wrong with the vampire…and Willow meant to find out what it was.

 

“Spike,” she said in a voice that was gentle but firm, as she crouched down beside him, reaching out a cautious hand to touch his, still resting over his chest. “Spike…what happened? What did they do to you?”

 

Spike’s mouth twisted in a defensively angry expression, as he spat out a single word of response without hesitation. “Nothing!”

 

Willow’s hand closed lightly over his, drawing it cautiously away from his bleeding chest. “Then what’s this?” she pressed. “Spike…what happened?”

 

The vampire followed her gaze to his bloody shirt, his eyes widening with a sort of shocked horror. He shook his head, his unnecessary breath quickening as he suddenly scrambled away from her, his eyes wild with remembered terror.

 

“Nothing,” he repeated, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. “Nothing happened…nothing…” His voice softened, and he seemed to be speaking to himself more than anyone, as he added, barely audible, “…was just a dream…”

 

Willow hesitated, her gaze shifting from the gaping wound in his chest to the terrified expression on his face. “That doesn’t look like dream blood to me, Spike.”

 

She kept her voice soft, reaching out a cautious, gentle hand to brush through his hair in a comforting gesture, as if trying to soothe a frightened animal. And, like just such a frightened animal, Spike crawled backward away from her, until his back was to the wall. He glanced up at Willow, eyes wide and wild, before looking away again quickly.

 

“Please,” he whispered, closing his eyes, shaking his head as he turned it away from her. “Please…”

 

He barely seemed to be coherent at all in that moment, apparently lost in a dark nightmare of memory that only he could see.

 

“Spike…you’re hurt,” Willow reasoned. “Please…let me see…”

 

Spike froze, not pulling away, but terribly tense and rigid as she reached slowly for the hem of his now blood-soaked shirt.

 

“It’s okay,” she soothed him gently. “Spike…it’s all right…just let me…”

 

When he did not pull away, did not resist, she slowly raised the shirt, bracing herself for what she was afraid that she might find there. However, nothing she had imagined could have prepared her for the stark reality of the wound she found there.

 

Spike’s torso had been sliced up the middle, from his throat to beneath the hem of the low-riding pants he wore, and then stitched crudely up again. His motions had jarred the very recent injuries, opening the stitched places and causing the bleeding to begin again. Just above his hips, another incision had been made along the line of his waist, and Willow felt sick as she imagined the purpose of those incisions – to allow the vampire’s flesh to be peeled back, and his internal organs callously explored by the Initiative scientists.

 

From the look of shell-shocked horror in Spike’s eyes, she doubted they had taken time with any such courtesies as anesthetic or pain-killing medication. As her stunned eyes locked onto his in horrified sympathy, Spike shook his head again, pulling back away from her against the wall, whispering under his breath.

 

“Just a dream,” he insisted in a forlorn, desolate voice. “Not real…just a dream…”


End file.
